


The Owner's Mark

by Davinahyde



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Oral Sex, Political Alliances, Politics, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Public Sex, Slow Build, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2018-09-14 08:18:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 132,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9170434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davinahyde/pseuds/Davinahyde
Summary: The Chantry explodes, a Dalish elf gets the mark, chaos ensues.Ellana Lavellan doesn't trust the humans. They don't trust her. This turns out to be a wise decision on everyone's part, because everyone is keeping secrets to one degree or another.Corypheus may be the least of anyone's problems.==============This really is as retelling of the story (until I stop being canon-compliant, which I do now and again).  In this version, however, my Inquisitor is not immediately One of the Gang. She is not uber-competent. She takes a while to fit in.This also means she doesn't jump on the nearest attractive Commander immediately. (Sorry 'bout that. I have other stories where immediate jumping DOES occur, if that's more your thing.)So this is a world where a complete stranger who doesn't fit in slowly -- and when I say slowly...my manuscript currently has a word count of 170k of slowly -- becomes the most powerful person in the land.I hope you enjoy! (You know how to let me know if you do, or if there's something I've missed...)





	1. The Explosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Conclave explodes. Cassandra Pentaghast rushes to see what she can do to help in the aftermath--and she discovers the only survivor, a Dalish elf.
> 
> Dalish elves were not allowed in the Conclave. So what was this woman doing there?

The Temple of Andraste was the largest building south of the Waking Sea, save for the Winter Palace at Halamshiral. It took two hundred years of non-stop labor of hundreds of workers, artisans, and craftsmen to build it out of stone painfully transported from quarries all over Thedas. A carefully designed sanctuary held the ashes of the blessed Andraste. 

It was the holiest of holy sites.

And then the Temple was abandoned for centuries, used only by crazed religious fanatics as their base of operation. 

When the Warden rediscovered the site, the Chantry cleaned the building and its tunnels out and restored the entire thing to its former glory, renaming it the Temple of Sacred Ashes and declaring it a site available to all believers. When the Divine wanted to hold a Conclave to settle the Mage-Templar War, the Temple of Sacred Ashes was the obvious choice for the location: ancient, enormous, magnificent, holy, secure.

During the Conclave, the Temple exploded, killing everyone within its walls and more outside it as well. The sound of the explosion was reported well over a hundred miles away. The tremors destroyed the roads leading to the Temple and leveled several buildings at nearby towns such as Branch Mill and Haven.

The most obvious result was that the explosion ended the hopes for peace between the mages and Templars.

The explosion also ended the Chantry as it had existed for centuries.

It wasn’t clear until later that the explosion ended most of the known world.

~ O ~

In a tent a mile away from the Temple, the Right Hand of the Divine, Cassandra Pentaghast, screamed at the Left Hand of the Divine, Sister Leliana. 

“Leliana, you weren’t there, you didn’t hear her. Yes, she absolutely wants us to recruit the mages and Templars now. Not to wait. Do it now.”

“And do what with them?” Leliana screamed back. “Where do you want us to put them? How do you expect us to keep them from killing one another?”

They spent most days screaming at one other. It wasn’t a big deal.

That morning, Cassandra went to the Temple of Sacred Ashes to talk to Divine Justinia about how the Conclave was progressing—answer: not well—and whether Cassandra and Leliana should continue with the Divine’s plan of creating a third path for the Chantry to follow in case the Mage-Templar talks broke down. 

 The Divine’s answer had been most emphatically _yes_. 

Cassandra wanted to recruit more of the disaffected mages and Templars to their fledging Inquisition immediately. Leliana wanted to gather more information about where the great powers of Thedas stood on the reforms for the Circle of Magi and Templar Order before they committed to anything or anyone. It was the same argument as always.

Cassandra had just opened her mouth to declare she was done arguing about this for the day—at least until she’d had some supper—when she was lifted her off her feet and smashed against one wall of the tent. The ground beneath her shifted several inches one way and then another and the tent stakes collapsed, dropping the tent on her. All she could hear was roaring in her ears, which was almost the same as complete silence.

When she fought her way to standing, she pulled up the canvas fabric to find Leliana lying there, her hands over her ears and a large bruise on one cheek. 

The small redheaded woman looked up at Cassandra, which at least meant she was alive. She pointed to one of her ears.

Cassandra shook her head. The world was silent for her, too.

She managed to pull up the fabric of the tent until she could make an opening large enough for Leliana to scramble through, and then she lifted it over her own head. 

Chaos, everywhere. 

Horses reared on their hind legs, shaking their manes back and forth. Soldiers lay on the ground, clutching the sides of their heads, their mouths open in agony. Legs protruded from under an overturned cart. Several soldiers used blankets to beat at the flames spreading from the fire that had spread from the kitchen to nearby supplies.

Leliana grabbed Cassandra’s arm and pulled, hard. Cassandra followed the motion of her hand, pointing to the west.

A column of thick black smoke, larger than anything Cassandra had ever seen, rose in the sky over the treetops ahead of them, a column of green fire visible through the black. 

The Temple. 

Cassandra raced toward the side of the hill. 

When she emerged from the woods and saw the devastation in the valley below her, she could scarcely credit what she was looking at.

The Temple of Sacred Ashes was simply gone, turned into a pile of rubble marked by the column of smoke and green fire. Cassandra could feel the heat waves even at this distance.

No. It wasn’t green fire. It was a tear into the Fade itself. Straight up from where the Temple had stood.

Another hand grabbed her arm and she yanked it away before looking up. Cullen Rutherford had a cut on his forehead and the blood had smeared down the side of his face. He pointed to his ear and she nodded. Then he pointed to the sky.

The column of green Fade fire shooting out of the Temple spread across the sky in a larger and larger gash that crossed from one horizon to the other. 

She pointed down to the Temple and the two of them skidded their way down the hill. Along the way they found plenty of people injured by the blast, some of whom reached up for help and others who were too far gone. Cassandra had to believe the people in the camp behind them would begin rescue operations. Her mission was to get to the Temple and rescue the Divine. 

The closer she and Cullen got to the Temple, though, the more obvious it became that they were on a fool’s mission: the line of wounded gave way to the gravely wounded, who had lost limbs and a lot of blood, and then to the bodies of the dead, who lay scattered around the Temple like scattered leaves. Bodies of Templars, mages, and the Valo-Kas blocked her and Cullen getting to the front of the Temple.

He climbed up on a giant stone block that had come from the Temple and extended a hand to pull her behind him.

The entire Temple of Sacred Ashes was just gone. A circle of devastation had blown outwards, leaving stones, fires, and the dead.

In the distance, she could see others begin to arrive, brought by the explosion. She watched as they stepped over the bodies in their way. Everyone who had been in the Temple must have been catapulted out at high speed. Too fast to survive.

The only remaining symbol of the front of the Temple was the base of one of the pillars from the front door. Beyond that were just large blocks of stone around the roaring column of green fire.

No one could have survived this—

And then, from inside the green fire itself, she saw two figures. Two women.

One of them stumbled out of the fire toward the ruined pillar.

The other seemed to be consumed by the Fade before their very eyes.

The survivor fell forward on to the remains of the white stone Plaza that had surrounded the Temple. 

Cassandra and Cullen ran through the field of dead bodies to get to the single person who had survived the unsurvivable. She was face down on the limestone and her shoulder-length black hair hid her face, but one of her hands scrabbled against the ground, so she was still alive. She was of a medium height and slender wore a simple homespun tunic and leather pants. No one at the Conclave had worn anything like that. The only people in attendance had been Templars in their suits of armor and mages in their finest robes and the Divine, in her wimple and cloak of gold. 

Cassandra pointed her index finger toward Cullen, who nodded. Then she pointed to the sky. _One._ She added her middle finger. _Two._ Then she put her hands underneath the woman and mouthed _Three_ at him. Together they rolled her over. 

 _What in the name of Andraste_ , she thought. 

The woman was an elf.

A Dalish elf, complete with the facial tattoo. In fact, her facial tattoo was the only mark on her—she had no cuts, bruises, or burns from the explosion or the green fire. 

Cassandra and Cullen looked at one another.

They didn’t need to talk for the question to be obvious: What was an elf doing there? And how had she survived?

There had been absolutely no elves allowed into the Conclave. Definitely not as participants, not even as servants.

Cassandra felt herself grow furious. Who was this? What kind of person had survived the destruction of the Temple when everyone else seemed to have perished.

The woman’s mouth opened in a scream—Cassandra assumed she was screaming, but she still couldn’t hear—and she clutched her left hand to her chest. Her hand moved so fast Cassandra thought she might be trying to attack one of them, but instead the elf just lay there, tears racing down her temples from the corners of her eyes, holding her hand to her chest.

Cassandra took the hand and opened it, pulling the woman’s fingers open from the fist they’d made. 

A bright green light shot out from the woman’s palm. It was so bright Cassandra had to squint to look at it, and even then it left a trail across her eyes. The green light burst through a jagged tear across the hand. A tear that left no blood.

The woman’s body arched upwards and she screamed again. 

Cullen clapped Cassandra on the arm to get her attention, and then he pointed up, toward the streak of green fire across the sky. 

She looked up—and then back down, at the woman’s palm. They were the same shape. 

Cassandra let go of her hand and the elf immediately curled up like a child and clutched her hand to her chest, squeezing her eyes shut.

This woman and the explosion at the Temple were connected. The only question was how?

And as soon as she could hear again, Cassandra was going to get answers.


	2. The Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition imprisons the sole survivor of the Conclave blast--until a strange apostate mage names Solas tells them he suspects the mark on the prisoner's hand may give her an interesting ability to close rifts.

Leliana met Cassandra and Cullen at the top of the stairs leading down to the jail under the Chantry building in Branch Mill. The Inquisition had taken the town over in an effort to regroup after the explosion. “Her name is Ellana Lavellan, or Ellana of Clan Lavellan.”

“Never heard of them,” Cullen said.

Leliana wasn’t surprised. It was her job to know the various groups, clans, and organizations around Greater Thedas. The Dalish clan system was not easy to penetrate, although Clan Lavellan was somewhat notorious for having more contact with human towns and settlements than most Dalish clans.

“They mostly reside in the north of the Free Marches,” Leliana said. 

“Free Marches? What the hell is she doing all the way down here in the Frostbacks?” he demanded.

“What was she doing in the Temple?” Cassandra said.

Cullen opened the giant steel door that led to the jail cells. There was only one prisoner in there now.

“Her clan came to sell their wares to the many pilgrims who were coming for the Conclave. They camped outside Branch Mill,” Leliana said, referring to the next town over. 

“What sort of wares?” Cassandra said. “Explosives?”

“Fine weaving, needlepoint, and embroidery, actually,” Leliana said. She pulled out a sample she’d gotten from one of the clan members. “It’s among the finest work I’ve ever seen.” 

“No one at the Conclave needed embroidery,” Cassandra said.

Leliana sighed. She was as angry about the explosion and the death of the Divine as Cassandra was. Maybe even more so—she had known the Divine Justinia when she was only the Revered Mother Dorothea and Leliana a simple bard in Orlais. The Right Hand’s anger, however, might lead her to execute the prisoner before they had so much as talked to her, and Leliana preferred to find out what the prisoner knew before that happened.

“Where is this Clan now?” Cullen asked. 

“Like most of the other people who survived, they’re scattering as far and as wide as they can get to,” Leliana said. “My people only caught up with them at the docks in Highever. They’re on their way to Kirkwall now.” 

“Dammit,” he muttered.

“Then get a message to Kirkwall and have them rounded up and sent back,” Cassandra said. 

The three of them stopped outside the door of the cell the prisoner was being held in. The two guards outside it waited for Cullen to give them the password before opening the door, even though he was the one who had given them the daily password in the first place. They took their jobs very seriously, Leliana thought. The ex-Templar was doing excellent work in training the military forces for this Inquisition project of theirs. When Cassandra had first proposed recruiting Rutherford to their little organization, Leliana had said no. After what happened at Kinloch Hold a decade before and Kirkwall only a year ago, Leliana hadn’t been at all certain she wanted Cullen Rutherford anywhere near a project she was involved in. But the events of the past ten years had changed him in ways she wouldn’t have believed if she hadn’t seen them herself. The certainty and righteousness that had nearly destroyed the twenty year old had given way to a much more pragmatic thirty year old. 

She should have guessed that would be the case after she heard he had left the Templars. Cullen Rutherford, of all people, had left the Templar Order.

The solid metal door swung open.

The prisoner sat sprawled almost exactly where they’d left her, her back to the stone wall, her left arm lifted to shoulder-height and held in place by a tight metal manacle. The green light still shone out of it, and Leliana could tell it was making a hissing and spitting noise, like fat dropping in a fire. The elf wore the same clothing she’d been found in, only now it was almost filthy beyond recognition. She looked up at them, her face dirty and streaked by endless tears, her lips cracked and streaked with dried blood.

Cullen looked at Cassandra. “You honestly believe she blew up the Temple?” he asked.

“P-p-p-please,” the prisoner begged.

“Yes, I do,” Cassandra said.

“My other hand,” she said. 

“Tell us what you did!” Cassandra yelled at her.

The elf held up her right hand. “Lock this one. This thing _hurts_.” 

Leliana put her hand on Cassandra’s arm to keep her from making another outburst. “Ellana? That’s your name, isn’t it?”

The elf nodded. “Yes?”

Leliana crouched down so that they were on the same eye level. “Ellana, my name is Sister Leliana. Do you know why you’re here?”

The elf shook her head and burst into tears again. “It _hurts_ ,” she sobbed. 

Leliana signaled the guard who stood in the doorway. “You, get her some water.” She turned to Cullen. “You have the keys to her chain?” 

“Yes.”

“Switch her hands.”

“You have no idea what that thing on her hand is,” Cassandra thundered.

“If she wanted to burn us with it, I suspect she could do it even when the hand is locked in place,” Leliana said. “Perhaps if she is not in excruciating pain, she will feel more comfortable talking to us.” 

Leliana and Cassandra had done this routine in front of a lot with people whose cooperation they hoped to get: Cassandra was the mean one, and Leliana was the nice one. Usually the ruse worked. This time, though, Leliana really needed Cassandra to not give in to her baser impulses and start hacking away at the prisoner with her sword too early.

Cullen unlocked the shackle around the elf’s left wrist and the woman clutched her left hand to her chest, the skin around her wrist bruised and bloodied, and then after a second she held up her right hand. Leliana sighed and shook her head at Cullen, who dropped the chain against the wall without attaching it to her.

The sound of a guard coming down the hall while yelling at someone to keep moving had Cullen and Cassandra look at the doorway—while Leliana kept staring at the prisoner, who didn’t show any interest in what was going on outside. Or in trying to escape. Or in trying to move, frankly. Her head kept lolling from side to side and every so often she mewled in pain, often at the same time as the mark on her hand hissed noisily. 

The door to the cell pulled open again and the guard Leliana had sent off returned with a strange, thin, bald man wearing mage’s robe’s and a wolfskin pelt. The guard held a mage’s staff in his hand. “Found this one upstairs. Says he needs to talk to you about the prisoner.” 

“You took his staff?” Leliana said.

“He handed it right over, no problem,” the guard said. 

“Who are you?” Cassandra said. 

The elf mage gave a small bow. “My name is Solas. I am an apostate mage who has studied the Fade for years. The Breach over our heads is a tear into the Fade itself.”

“Do you know this one?” Cullen asked, about the elf on the floor.

“Alas, no,” the mage said. “But she may carry the key that will allow us to close the Breach and protect our world from the dangers of the Fade coming in to it. I believe the mark on her hand can seal the Breach.”

“How do you know about this mark on her hand, mage?” Cassandra said.

“Everyone knows about her hand, Lady Cassandra,” Solas said. “News travels fast. We, too, must hurry, because every time the Breach overhead widens, it stands to reason the mark widens as well.” 

At those words, the prisoner shrieked and fell over, her right hand tightly grabbing her left. 

“And sooner or later, it will kill her,” Solas said. After a moment of listening to the whimpering from the floor, he added: “Most likely sooner.” 

Cassandra made a noise of disgust and then shrugged.

“How do we find out if you’re right?” Leliana asked.

“Let us take her to one of the rifts that have opened up, spilling demons and destruction everywhere, and see if the mark can’t close it.”

Cullen and Cassandra looked at one another. 

It was truly amazing, Leliana thought, how fast the two of them could communicate with a simple glance. She had known and worked with Cassandra for years and yet the two of them still had to argue out every little thing, from how to run the Inquisition to what to have for lunch. Perhaps it was simply how Seekers and Templars worked together, she thought. Or perhaps because Cassandra was the only person in the world who had offered Rutherford a lifeline after he left the Order.

“I’ll start moving out with the soldiers, see if we can’t get them away from the Breach,” Cullen said. “Sister?”

“I need to meet with some of my contacts, Commander. I will return to Haven as soon as possible. Cassandra?”

“Let us see what happens when we try this mage’s plan with the prisoner. If it goes badly, I’ll just kill her.”

“Oh, Lady Cassandra,” Solas said, “I rather expect you’ll kill us both.”

“Probably,” Cassandra said. She pulled the prisoner to her feet. “Let’s go.” 

~ O ~ 

As if the day weren’t bad enough, not only did Cassandra have to bring the prisoner up the mountain, not only did she have to bring this strange apostate mage with her, but Varric Tethras, the most annoying dwarf in all of Thedas, waited to join her on their way to the rift currently being guarded by twenty of the Inquisition’s finest soldiers.

True, she had told him to stay in that spot. She didn’t think he’d listen. Why did he always do what she didn’t want him to?

“Go away, Tethras,” Cassandra yelled at him. “You aren’t needed.” 

“Nice to see you, too, Seeker,” the red-haired dwarf said, his shirt unbuttoned down to his belly, still wearing that stupid necklace over all that chest hair. “And who’s this tall drink of glowering?”

“My name is Solas,” the elf mage said.

“Huh. Varric Tethras, famous author. Nice to meet you.”

“I’ve never heard of you,” Solas said.

Varric raced to keep up with Cassandra and the prisoner. “And this must be the Herald of Andraste,” Varric said.

Cassandra looked over at him. “What?”

“You haven’t heard that one? Yeah, they’re saying the Blessed Andraste herself led this kid out of the ruins of the Temple,” Varric said.

The prisoner turned to look at him. 

“Whoa!” Varric said. “Have you seen her eyes? Wow. I don’t even know what word to use for that shade of green. And I’m a famous author, I know lots and lots of words.” 

“I don’t want to hear any more blasphemy from you, Varric,” Cassandra said. “Herald of Andraste. Bah.” She stopped abruptly, causing the prisoner to bang into her side. “Oh no.” 

The road ahead of them was blocked by a cluster of demons. She had never seen that many together at one time. 

Varric strung an arrow in his bow. Solas raised his staff. Cassandra dropped the prisoner’s hand in order to draw her sword.

The prisoner immediately scrambled away from them—only to stop at the body of a fallen archer who lay a few feet away. She pulled up the bow and quiver of arrows the man had carried. 

“No!” Cassandra yelled. She turned to raise her sword at the prisoner.

The prisoner paid no attention to her. Instead, from her position on the ground, she strung an arrow on the bow and took aim at the demons.

Varric yelled, “Come on, Seeker. If she can’t defend herself, she’s dead.”

“She may be as good as dead anyhow. We may all be,” Solas said.

“That’s not comforting,” Varric said. “Mind if I call you Chuckles?” 

“Yes, I do, very much,” Solas told him.

The prisoner let loose with the arrow, hitting one of the demons directly in the eye and knocking it backward. It wasn’t simply a good shot, it was an amazing shot, especially given the prisoner’s condition and where she was sitting. Cassandra had heard elves were talented with a bow, but she suspected this young woman was extremely well versed in it. 

“I say we let her play along for a while, Seeker,” Varric said.

“Agreed,” Cassandra said. “Come on.” 

The prisoner scrambled to her feet and the four began racing up the hill, faster now that Cassandra didn’t need to drag the prisoner by her hand any more.

They ran across more groups of demons, and working together the four of them dispatched them quickly. They eventually reached the rift, the giant thread of the Breach that snaked down from the heavens to a large quarry in the hills. Twenty of the Inquisition’s finest soldiers had been battling the endless supply of demons pouring forth from the rift and they were exhausted, overmatched, and dying.

In the center of the quarry stood a massive pride demon, covered in a hard scaly armor that Cassandra knew was almost impossible to break through. 

The prisoner raised her bow and took out one of the minor demons standing near her.

Cassandra pointed to the pride demon with her sword. “We need to destroy that thing before we can get near the rift.”

The Inquisition soldiers who could still stand kept the minor demons busy while Cassandra, Solas, Varric, and the prisoner went to work on the pride demon. Even as she concentrated on their target, Cassandra kept track of how the prisoner was doing, and the answer was: very good indeed. Despite her ragged condition and constant cries of pain, the prisoner concentrated on loosing her arrows on spots that would do maximum damage to the demon. 

Eventually the pride demon fell and Cassandra jabbed her sword into the back of its neck. The prisoner whirled around to nail an arrow directly into a demon that was about to bite an Inquisition soldier’s leg off. 

“She’s okay. She can stick with me,” Varric said.

Cassandra nodded and swept her sword through the last demon still at work in the quarry. “Solas! We’re ready.”

The prisoner lowered her bow and looked at Solas, who smiled kindly before he grabbed the wrist of her left hand and lifted it up toward the rift. 

Fire shot out of the palm of her hand and fire shot down from the rift, flowing together, until together the energy flowed like a raging river back into the prisoner’s hand. As it came down, it forced her to her knees. The apostate mage let go of her hand and backed away from her, leaving her to scream noiselessly behind the wall of green fire.

And then it was over.

The rift was gone. 

The demons had stopped coming. 

The prisoner looked at her hand.

Varric ran over to her and crouched by her side. The prisoner looked at him.

“Ellana. Nice to meet you, Varric Tethras, famous author,” she said, and then she fell over backward, completely passed out. 

“I’m going to call you Bright Eyes,” he said. “Seriously, have you looked at her eyes?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, you know all this stuff. I had a lot of fun going over it though -- exactly HOW did they deal with all of this nonsense at the Conclave?


	3. Ellana and the Inquisition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana goes from being a prisoner to being one of the founding members of the Inquisition. She has no idea who these people are or what they want from her, but she's beginning to figure out that they're not going to let her go anytime soon.

Ellana woke up and the first thing she noticed was there was an actual wooden roof over her head, with dark crossbeams across white boards. Not the tent she expected. Or the stone jail cell she’d spent too many days in so far.

She sat up in bed and looked down at her hands. She remembered shackles on them, when she’d been laying on a floor hewn out of rock. Her hands weren’t shackled any more, either to the bed or to each other. The skin around her wrists was still red and raw, although it had healed somewhat from the last time she had looked at them. 

Which meant the last time she’d looked at her wrists must have been at least two days ago. 

She’d been unconscious for over a day?

The tear in her left hand still spat out green light at her, hissing and burbling. The hand still hurt as though she’d taken a knife straight through it. But she could flex her fingers all right, so it still worked.

Right. The rift. The tear on her hand had closed that rift. And they’d killed some demons. She’d never seen a demon in her life, and then she was killing them. And before that she was in jail for some reason. Okay.

Remembering anything more than those things made her head hurt. She had to stop trying to remember anything before the jail cell. 

The jail cell. The cold and damp and rock. Her fingers pressed into the soft down of the mattress underneath her. She had been sleeping on a bed. An actual for-real mattress with feathers sticking out of it.

She scrambled out of the bed to look through the window—a window with actual glass in it. Where was she? All she could see out the warped, bubbled glass was a dirt road, with the snow pushed off to the sides, and other houses. Snow. So she was still in the south, probably near to where she’d traveled with her Clan. She remembered a little about traveling and suddenly that pain shot through her head again. She pressed her hands into the sides of her head, and that hurt both her head and her hands.

Did anything not hurt?

If she pushed her cheek to the glass, she thought she could make out the front of a Chantry building, or maybe another stone building like a warehouse. A man in full Templar armor walked down the street followed by a pair of soldiers, but Ellana couldn’t see any of them out clearly.

The sound of plates crashing on the floor behind her made her scream and crouch by the table by the window.

A golden-haired elf servant stood in the doorway, her hands over her mouth, a tray that had held a few plates of food. She curtseyed, her arms shaking, and she said, “I’ll tell Lady Cassandra you’re awake.” The servant gaped at the mess on the floor, as if confused what she should do, but then turned and ran out of the room. 

Seconds later the sound of boot nails announced the arrival of the warrior who had first thrown Ellana in a jail cell and then dragged her out to the mountain side. She was tall and had a thin scar down one cheek, but she had very dark eyes and was very beautiful nonetheless. Beautiful and angry and fierce. Somehow she looked even fiercer in such a domestic setting, if such a thing were even possible. Ellana wondered if she was going to draw her sword right then and there.

The warrior kicked one of the broken plates out of her way when she walked in. “Good. You’re awake finally. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“We have a lot of business to attend to and we’ve been waiting for you to wake up. You’re needed.”

Ellana stood and looked down at herself. She wore her breast band and a pair of smalls that had seen better days. Did she wear smalls like this? She didn’t think so. When and how had she acquired them? 

“May I wear some clothes?” she asked.

Cassandra snorted as she looked Ellana over. “Hm. I suppose you’ll need to. You! Maid! Get her a basin of water to wash with. You! Yes, you, the other one. Clean this mess up. Tell someone to bring the prison—to bring _our guest_ her clothing.” She turned to look at Ellana. “Meet me downstairs as soon as you’re ready and be quick about it.” 

She had to assume these _shemlen_ wouldn’t let her sleep in a real bed—and look, she had a feather in her hair, it was a real featherbed after all—if their next step was to take her out and kill her, so Ellana figured she was safe for the moment.

And if they didn’t kill her, and they didn’t keep her shackled all the time, she could find a way to escape this place. Wherever this was. And get back to her clan.

She put her hand on her necklace to steady herself—only to discover the chain she’d been wearing around her neck was gone. Had she lost it? Had it been taken away from her? 

She wasn’t sure she should ask.

The _elvhen_ maids brought two large steaming pots of water up to the bedroom. Each one had to weigh as much as they did. “You can wash up,” said the one who’d dropped the tray in her room. She had olive skin and golden braids. The other one was smaller, with red braids and fair skin. “And we can wash your hair.”

“My hair will be fine, it’s no trouble,” Ellana said.

“Please,” said the red-haired one.

“We’ve never had an elf in here before, miss,” said the first one.

The two maids waited while Ellana tried to decide what to do. She’d washed her own hair since she was old enough to lift her hands to her head. The idea of anyone waiting on her was abhorrent.

But it meant something to these young women. 

“Well. My hair’s short. Shouldn’t take much time.” She sat in the chair. “What’s your name?” she asked the golden-haired elf.

“My name is Gwenid, miss,” she said. 

Gwenid. How did she get a _shem_ name like that? Ellana glanced up at the red-braided elf, who was slowly combing through Ellana’s tangles. “And you?”

“Tabitha.”

“You’re both city elves?”

“Yes, miss,” Gwenid said as she began to rub something—something that smelled deeply of lavender and crystal grace—into her hair. “I come from Amarathine.” 

Ah. That explained the accent. 

Ellana closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations of her scalp being scrubbed and her hair being washed. The water below her head was so warm. 

“I’m from Starkhaven,” said Tabitha.

“I was there once,” Ellana said. She smiled. “Only once.”

“Yes,” Tabitha said, nodding. “You’re Dalish. We didn’t see many of you there.”

“Probably not, no,” Ellana said. She had the feeling the girl understood why immediately.

Gwenid brought out a large comb and began to comb Ellana’s hair under the water. 

The mark on her left palm seized, spitting acid throughout her hand, a fire burning up her wrist. Ellana screamed and wrenched herself out of the chair, looking down to see what remained of her hand.

Her hand was fine. The mark hissed and flared and then calmed down.

Gwenid’s hands lifted up. “I’m sorry—I mean, _Ir abelas_. Is that how you say it? _Ir abelas_. I didn’t mean to pull your hair.”

Ellana turned around to find both elves cowering behind the wash tub. “It’s not—” Gods, they were terrified of her. She held out her hand and the green light made both girls pull back further from her. She quickly held out her right hand instead. “It’s not you. It’s not anything you did. It’s… Look, let’s finish this up. The Lady Cassandra is waiting.”

The elves nodded and rushed through the rest of Ellana’s preparations. One squeezed the water out of her hair and combed it out while the other bathed her with a cloth and more of that lavender and crystal grace scent. Soap, she realized. They’d used soap on her. 

They dressed her in the clothes she’d been wearing the day she’d been tossed in the jail cell—but they’d been cleaned and mended and looked better than she’d ever seen them since the day she’d made them. They put her boots—cleaned, brushed, and smelling faintly of lavender and leather oil—on her feet. She smelled like one of her aunt Callia’s flower arrangements.

“There,” Gwenid said, her hands patting Ellana’s clothing down. 

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” Ellana said to both of them.

The elves’s eyes widened. They curtseyed repeatedly.

“Does no one ever tell you thank you?” Ellana asked.

The two maids looked at one another.

Ugh. _Shemlen_. The same absolutely everywhere.

“Do you have my necklace?” she asked.

Both maids shook their heads. “No, ma’am,” said Gwenid. “You weren’t wearing any jewelry as long as you’ve been here.”

Ellana patted the empty spot on her breastbone where the chain should hang, and then she smiled. “Ma serannas,” she repeated, and then she headed out to find the warrior.

Downstairs Cassandra waited by the door, clenching her jaw and clutching the hilt of sword over and over again. She looked at the stairs when Ellana arrived at the bottom. “How nice of you to finally decide to join us,” she said, and then she paused, looking at Ellana. “Well. At least you don’t look like a sewer rat any more.”

Ellana could have pointed out that Cassandra’s keeping her imprisoned was the reason she looked like a sewer rat, but she decided not to. “Where are we going?”

Cassandra pulled open the door of the house. “Much has happened since you passed out on the mountain,” she said. “Welcome to Haven.” 

A blast of cold air made Ellana think twice about the wisdom of leaving before her hair was fully dry. But she didn’t have much choice in the matter. 

Haven was much like other _shem_ towns Ellana had been to: narrow roads with packed dirt or cobblestones, houses and buildings too close in together, and always, in the center of the town, the largest structure, a Chantry built out of stone. The rest of the town could burn, but the Chantry would remain standing.

The Chantry didn’t like elves, and elves didn’t like the Chantry. Ellana made it a rule never to go near one.

 _Of course_ that’s where Cassandra wanted to go.

It was the building she’d seen out of the window of her room, and it was fairly large for such a small town. It faced the town square, and the building Ellana had woken up in was on the far side of the square. 

Cassandra grabbed her by the hand to pull her out of the way of a horse trotting by, and Ellana doubled over with pain. 

“What is it?” the woman yelled at her.

Ellana clutched her left hand to her chest and held her right hand out instead. “If you must hold on to me, hold on to this hand!”

Cassandra uttered one of the throaty noises she used to indicate disgust. “All right. Your point is taken. Get moving.” 

They crossed the town square and passed by a squadron of soldiers, most of whom stopped talking long enough to salute Cassandra and take a long look Ellana. At least one gave Cassandra a once over too, but only once the taller woman had walked past. Ellana they openly gawked at.

“Look how far the legs on that one go up,” one of them said.

Ellana felt rather than saw the blade pass by her throat. 

Cassandra stood there, arm stretched past Ellana’s face, the tip of her sword pointing straight at the Adam’s apple of the soldier who’d spoken. “Care to repeat that particular witticism, private?” she said.

The only part of the soldier that moved was his nostrils as he came to complete attention. The throats of his fellow soldiers moved as they swallowed in fear, but they remained stock still, facing forward.

A baritone voice behind Ellana said. “Stop threatening my men, Cassandra.”

Cassandra lowered her arm and glared at whoever was standing there. “It was required.”

“I’m sure it was. Explain why later. For now, the three of you, back to your quarters.” 

Ellana turned around.

Standing behind her was the Templar she’d seen before. On the mountaintop? No, that didn’t seem right. No, he’d been the one in the jail cell. The one with the blond hair and the armor. Everyone called him the Commander. He was very handsome—or, he would have been, except his facial expression was about as forbidding as it had been the first time she’d seen him with the key to her shackles in his hand. His amber eyes looked straight over Ellana’s head as the three soldiers took off. 

Cassandra pushed her sword back into its scabbard. “You don’t even know what they did, Cullen.”

“Your reasoning as always is sufficient for me.” He kept watching the soldiers as they ran. Only once they were through the gates did his gaze tilt downward toward Ellana. “She’s awake.” 

 _Shemlen._ Always talking past her as though she weren’t even there. “Yes, she is,” Ellana said. 

Only the slightest tightening of the corners of his eyes told her he had even heard her speak. And he was definitely not the slightest bit amused by her insolence. “Is she ready?” he asked Cassandra.

“The sooner the better,” the woman answered. 

“Ready for what?” Ellana asked.

Cassandra reached for Ellana’s hand—but then lightly placed her fingertips on the back of Ellana’s left elbow instead. “This way.”

They headed into the Chantry. As they stood in the entryway and stamped the snow off their boots on to the rushes laid there, Ellana looked at the inside. She’d been inside only one Chantry before this. The entire building had been smaller, but the design inside and out was almost identical. There was a large open area down the center of the building, with large chandeliers dangling from the angled roof twenty, thirty feet overhead. On the sides of the open area were large walkways, separated from the main area by arches, forming open barriers. Off the walkways were large, wooden doors, braced by iron bands.

This was the biggest _shem_ building she’d ever been in, she thought.

 _The Temple of Sacred Ashes’s entranceway soared much higher than this_ , said a voice in her head.

Ellana blinked and her headache increased. How strange. If she’d seen anything, she would have seen the _outside_ of the Temple of Sacred Ashes. But as a Dalish elf, she would never be allowed to go into it. And she didn’t remember ever going there at all. In fact, she didn’t remember anything after…after…

“What’s wrong?” Cassandra asked her.

Ellana was all too aware of the Commander standing directly behind her. His very presence made her nervous, simply because he was a Templar, who on the whole tended to not like Dalish elves. Of course, to be fair, no one liked the Dalish, but men with swords tended to be the least friendly. Nothing Ellana had said or done so far had made these people treat her like a person they respected, so she wasn’t about to risk telling them what the voice in her head said. 

“What’s that smell?” she asked. She covered her nose with her forearm and faked a sneeze.

“Incense. Embrium incense.” The woman looked up at the Commander. “Funny. I don’t even smell it any more. It’s just how it smells in here.” She tilted her head toward the large doors at the end of the hall. “Come along.”

They walked down the entire Chantry nave. There were a few mages there, in their colorful, embroidered robes. And a few more soldiers. But most of the people in here wore clothing Ellana didn’t recognize, with dark tunics and dark pants and dark headwear. The people who served in the Chantry, perhaps. Priests. Or others.

How dreadful to wear such dull clothes, she thought.

A petite woman, much smaller than Ellana, dashed out of a side room to intercept them. She was anything but dull—she wore a bright yellow bodice with a green and white lace fichu, a floor-length red skirt, and a blue sash around her waist, all of which set off her beautiful clear copper skin and large dark eyes. _Antivan_ , Ellana guessed. She was a breath of colorful air in this dank, dark place.

“Cassandra, you’re here!” the woman said. She looked at Ellana and clasped her hands together, not easy with the number of rings she wore. “Oh! And this must be her! Very pleased to meet you. I’m Lady Josephine Montilyet,” she said, and she held her right hand out.

Ellana had seen _shemlen_ greet one another that way, but never her. Usually they greeted her with yelling or lewd propositions. The ones she’d come to know better wanted to talk business and a few—a very few—others wanted to talk pleasure. 

She had no idea how to respond to this woman.

“Hello,” she said.

Josephine’s hand bobbed in the air.

A woman in a soft blue hooded cloak with a beatific expression and a piercing gaze suddenly appeared by the Commander’s side, having made no sound as she approached. Her pink lips were tilted in a smile, but her blue eyes seemed much too penetrating for her to be truly amused by anything. “I do not believe Dalish elves from the north of the Free Marches shake hands, Josephine,” she said.

“Oh!” Josephine dropped her hand. “Accept my pardon. I didn’t know.”

Cassandra shook her head. “Sister Leliana, this is Ellana Lavellan.”

The woman in blue inclined her head in greeting. And never took her gaze off Ellana as she did so.

She had been in the jail cell too, with Cassandra and the Templar. She had spoken in low, kind tones, every word meant to make Ellana trust her. 

No _shemlen_ wanted a Dalish elf to trust them. They simply assumed elves were stupid enough to respect everything they said and did.

That this woman was working so hard at gaining her trust meant Ellana should not trust her one bit. 

Despite her size and the fact that she carried no weapons, this woman in blue was the scariest _shemlen_ Ellana had ever met in her entire life. 

Josephine was nice and pretty and not scary at all. Ellana planned to stay as close to her as she could.

“Lady Cassandra!” a man thundered from behind them. It echoed off the rafters of the roof.

Cassandra muttered some imprecations even Ellana knew not to say in a Chantry. “Chancellor Roderick.” Her voice was not welcoming.

The Chancellor, wearing some white and red robes and wearing a leather headdress, looked familiar—had Ellana seen him on the mountainside? Yes, she had. He’d been very angry at her then.

He was very angry at her now.

She knew how this was going to go. This man was about to name her as the cause of everything that had happened, because that was what _shemlen_ always did with the Dalish.

He hoisted his cane and pointed the brass knob at the top toward Ellana. “Why is this one not in chains?” he yelled. “She should be on her way to Val Royeaux to stand trial and be executed.”

At least he thought he wanted some kind of public trial before her inevitable execution. How kind.

“Roderick, leave us be,” Cassandra snapped. “You have no part of this.” 

“What is your plan, Seeker?” Roderick demanded.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat. I will not ignore it.” 

Roderick pointed at Ellana. “That is the only threat you need to concern yourself with.”

Cassandra grunted as she threw open the doors at the end of the nave to a large meeting room. She marched in, followed closely by Leliana and then the Chancellor. “The rest of you. Join us,” Cassandra barked.

The Commander stood by the door. “After you,” he said to Ellana and Josephine. 

Josephine went through the door, red skirt swaying. 

Ellana hesitated. 

“If you would be so kind,” he said. 

Clearly, he thought she was a bit dim.

She should probably encourage this lot to keep thinking that. They’d be less likely to kill her that way.

Ellana walked into the room, which was half again as large as the hall they’d just walked through, with similar soaring ceilings. Every wall was lined with chairs that had been pushed to the side, and in the center of the room was a giant table that had a map on it.

The map. 

Ellana gasped in surprise—and then put her hand over her mouth. The stupidest thing about her reaction was she had no idea why she was having it. Maybe she was somewhat dim.

“What’s wrong?” Cassandra demanded. 

Everyone in the room around the table—Cassandra, the Commander, Josephine, Sister Leliana, and the Chancellor—waited for her response.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Ellana said. _Keep them thinking you’re stupid_ , she thought. “What is it?”

“This is a map of Thedas, child,” Leliana said. “Surely you have seen a map.”

 _Yes. A large map, much larger than this. As big as this room. No, it was bigger and it had dolls on it. The dolls meant…the dolls meant…_ “No,” Ellana said, shaking her head, willing away the voice that made no sense and told her about things she didn’t remember. Now she had a headache. “No,” she repeated.

Cassandra picked up a giant book in her hands off a side table, its cover bound in leather and stamped with gold leaf. The pages shone silver in the candlelight. 

“Ellana’s mark is our only hope of closing the Breach, Roderick.”

“That is not for you to decide, Seeker!” he yelled at her.

She slammed the book down on the map table in front of him.

“This is a writ from the Divine Justinia that says otherwise, Chancellor. As of this moment, I declare the Inquisition reborn. We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order. With or without your approval.”

Roderick looked at Cassandra and Leliana, and then he sneered at Ellana. “You will fail.” 

He walked out and slammed the doors closed behind him.

Leliana looked at everyone gathered around the table. “The Divine directed us to rebuild the Inquisition of old and to find those who will stand against the chaos. We aren’t ready. We have no leader. No numbers. And now no Chantry support.” 

“But we have no choice. We must act now. With you at our side,” Cassandra said, looking at Ellana.

“Because of the mark,” she said. She looked at her hand and then closed it again. “What do you mean the Inquisition of old?” 

Leliana took a deep breath before answering. “The Inquisition preceded the Chantry. People who banded together to restore order in a world gone mad.”

Preceded the Chantry? Ellana didn’t know _shemlen_ had anything older than their Chantry. “Aren’t you part of the Chantry?”

“The Chantry has no Divine, child,” Leliana said. “It will take time to find one.”

“The Chantry has few grand clerics left after the Conclave, Ellana,” Cassandra told her.

“And the Templar Order has lost its way,” the Commander added. “We must unite those who are left under a single banner once more.”

Ellana looked down at the map. Where had she seen this before? And there had been conversation about the Chantry then too, and the Templars, and— “You’re trying to start a holy war.”

Cassandra snorted and shook her head. “We are already at war. You are already involved. Its mark is upon you. As to whether the war is holy…that depends on what we discover. We need you, Ellana.”

“You do understand I don’t believe in your Chantry or your Orders. Or your gods or—”

Cassandra nodded. “It will not be easy if you stay. But you cannot pretend this has not changed you.”

Ellana looked at her hand again. “Altogether too well. I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“We’re figuring this out as we go. You have met Sister Leliana,” Cassandra said. “She is our spymaster.” 

Ellana bowed her head to the woman in blue. The spymaster. Her instincts were correct. She needed to avoid Leliana at all costs.

Cassandra swept her hand toward the Antivan woman they’d met in the hallway. “This is Lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and diplomat. And you have met Commander Rutherford, the head of the Inquisition’s forces.”

The one with the keys to the locks, Ellana thought. He stared at her as though trying to decide whether he needed to run her through with that sword he carried at his side. Just to be safe, she would avoid him too—

Bolts of fire shot through Ellana’s left hand, driving her to her knees and making her scream for someone, anyone, to make the agony stop. She kept screaming and she dug her nails into the side of the map table.

“Maker’s breath, what’s wrong with her, making that noise all the time?” the Commander asked.

“It’s her hand, Cullen. Ach.”

“The Breach is widening,” Leliana said.

Josephine knelt beside her. “It’s all right.” She dabbed a white lace handkerchief against Ellana’s forehead. “You’re all right. Can you hear me?” 

The pain ebbed and Ellana caught her breath. She leaned against the leg of the table and held her left arm across her chest.

“You’re here, with us,” Josephine said as she helped Ellana stand. “You’re safe.” 

“No, I’m not,” Ellana whispered.

“If we don’t find a way to close the Breach, it will most likely kill her,” Cassandra said.

Ellana propped herself up on the map table using her right arm. She held her her left arm across her chest while staring down at the labels written across the lands of Thedas. The label in the mountain region near her said _Haven_. _Wycome_ was far to the north, near where the Commander stood.

“I’m not going home any time soon,” Ellana said.

“No, child, you are not,” Leliana said.

Josephine put her arm around Ellana and pulled her close. “You’ll be all right. We’re going to help you.”

Ellana closed her eyes. 

Help her?

She had to survive this town.

She had to survive these _shemlen_.

She had to get back to her clan.

And she had to get this thing off her hand.

What had she done to make the gods hate her so much?


	4. What they expect of her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana might be one of the founding members of the Inquisition, but that doesn't mean she's one of them.
> 
> No one will tell her what's going on--but they sure expect her to tell them everything she knows. Even if her memories have been stolen from her.
> 
> The only person who treats her with any degree of kindness is the strange elf Solas...but Ellana can tell he wants something from her. She's just not sure what.

She might have been part of their Inquisition, but that didn’t mean she was one of them.

Every morning Ellana woke with some degree of a headache and pain shooting through her arm, and every morning Cassandra took her across the town square to the Chantry. Ellana always expected the place to burst into flames simply because she walked in the front door, because of the suspicion and glares sent her way. The only other elves she saw in there were working: sweeping the floors or washing the tile mosaics or serving tea and biscuits to the priests and other _shemlen_ in there.

Everyone, human and elf alike, stared at her when she entered. She kept her left hand pressed against her thigh, to hide the mark from the scrutiny. As though there were some way to hide.

Leliana, Josephine, and the Commander were always in the room when she and Cassandra arrived. Josephine read off notes from the previous meeting, and they went over the agenda for that day. Well, the four _shemlen_ went over it; Ellana rarely if ever said anything. For her, the daily morning meeting in the War Room was both boring and terrifying—boring, because the others there either knew what they wanted to do already and didn’t care what she had to say, and terrifying, because they discussed the most difficult and horrifying things. Like how they were going to settle the Mage-Templar War.

Settle a war…using her.

How in Thedas did this small group of people in a tiny town frozen in a mountain range in Ferelden think they were going to end a war?

And exactly how did they think one lonely Dalish elf could help accomplish that? The mark on her hand could close rifts and that was about the extent of her powers. Maybe that was all they needed her to do. She hoped that was all they needed.

“We’ll start in the Hinterlands,” the Commander said. “We need to open the way between Haven and the Crossroads. There are too many reports of people trapped between mages and Templars there.”

“And we need to start employing the Herald to close the rifts,” Leliana said. “Both for our sake and for hers.”

Ellana flexed her left hand. “How many of us will go?”

“What do you mean?” Cassandra asked.

“You said you’re going to send me to the Hinterlands to close rifts. There are people warring there. Don’t we need to bring a large group of soldiers with… for protection?”

Cassandra shook her head. “We will go in a group of four.”

Was Cassandra kidding? “Four?” Ellana said.

“Four will move faster than a larger force. You, me, Solas the mage, and…” She made a face. “Varric Tethras.”

“Varric?” Leliana said, sounding amused. “Do you think you can stand traveling with him for that long?”

Cassandra made a noise low in her throat in response.

Ellana hated it when everyone else had a conversation that she didn’t understand and didn’t include her. “What about the Commander? Shouldn’t he come with us?”

The Commander’s expression turned stormy. He often looked at her as though she were a nuisance and that was when she remained silent. He really didn’t like her asking questions.

“The Commander stays here,” Cassandra said, with that that tone that meant the discussion was over. 

Ellana had no idea why they Commander had to stay in Haven, when the man was clearly designed to get out there and kill things. She had no idea why Cassandra hated Varric, who was always very kind and jovial with her and with Ellana. She had no idea why Leliana thought Cassandra’s annoyance with Varric was so hilarious. She didn’t know anything. And they wouldn’t tell her.

“Why?” Ellana said.

“Why what?” Cassandra said.

“Why does the Commander stay here? Everyone seems to think the answer is obvious. Except me.”

“Because he trains the soldiers,” Josephine said, as though that were enough of an explanation. The ambassador was the kindest member of the War Council, and even she didn’t understand why Ellana didn’t just know things without being told.

“The same soldiers we can’t take with us,” Ellana said.

Cassandra glared at her. “Enough. We leave in the morning. The four of us.”

“Ellana,” Leliana said. “How have you been feeling? You still have the headache?”

She shrugged. “It comes and goes.”

Leliana smiled and nodded. “Has your memory come back yet?” 

Ah, Sister Leliana. Whenever her voice got musical and her demeanor friendly, every nerve in Ellana’s body went on high alert. She could feel the beginnings of one of her violent, horrible headaches coming on, because she knew what Leliana was going to ask next.

“No, Sister,” Ellana said. 

And here it came.

“Have you been able to remember anything?” Leliana asked. 

Every few days Leliana asked what she could remember. From before the Conclave. Or more importantly during it. Ellana knew the spymaster didn’t believe her when she said she couldn’t remember, but she _couldn’t_. The worst of it was, trying to remember anything made sharp bolts of lightning shoot through her skull. More than once she’d put her hands up to her ears to see if blood really was leaking out.

“Nothing about how your clan reached Branch Mill?” Leliana asked. Again.

“I told you, we took a boat from Wycome—”

“Oh, I understand that,” she said, in the light, lilting way that said she absolutely did not understand at all. “After you docked at Lake Calenhad. How did you get to Branch Mill?”

_Gellan broke his hand._

Gellan. Her cousin. He had been with them. Of course he had. Why would his hand be broken?

“Horses?” Ellana said. She felt her eye beginning to twitch. There was something about horses. And Gellan.

“You don’t remember,” Leliana said.

Ellana slammed her hand down on the table, and several of the little flags jumped. “I’ve told you!”

“I need to keep checking, child. To see what may have changed. We need to know what happened there. What happened to you..” 

Tears started sliding down Ellana’s face. Again. 

The Commander opened one of those large, leather-bound books with the metal-bound edges. He flipped through it.

“Do you remember why your clan came to the Conclave?” Cassandra said.

Ellana shook her head. “Did you ask them? You said you would write them.” 

Josephine made a small hand gesture of apology. “I am sorry. With everything else—”

“You haven’t written them yet?” Ellana said.

“We have had other priorities,” Cassandra said.

Ellana had to stay here and do what they wanted when they wanted her to, but she wasn’t their priority. Got it.

The Commander walked around the table, his metal boots clanking against the stone flooring, and he slammed the large book down in front of her. On the page he had the book open to was a large ink drawing of a gorgeous, gigantic building made of stone, reminiscent of a Chantry but its own magnificent, overwhelming edifice. An artist had laid watercolors over the ink, painting directly on the page.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked.

 _That’s the Temple of Andraste_ , she thought. _They called it the Temple of Sacred Ashes._

But how could she know that? She never saw it, did she?

_Inside there were giant spiders and they chased her, poison dripping from their mandibles._

She opened her mouth to say _I don’t know what this is_. That was enough warning for her to step back before she threw up all over his shiny boots.

She glanced up to see the look of disgust the Commander shot at Cassandra.

“I’m sorry,” she said meekly. She wiped her mouth with the back of her right hand.

“At least she missed the book,” the Commander said.

“That’s where the Conclave was held, Ellana,” Josephine said. “At that temple. That’s where Cassandra and the Commander found you.” 

Ellana panted, trying to get her breathing under control. She shook her head. “I don’t remember being there. I mean, I must have been, but… I don’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Cassandra said.

What was the feeling in her head like? She thought about it for a moment. “It’s like whatever memories I had have been taken from me. Like pages ripped out of a book or a section of a cloth cut away. It’s been _removed_.”

She wretched again. The Commander stepped away from her. Once was enough for him, she guessed.

“That’s enough for today,” Josephine said. “From all of you.” 

“Tomorrow we go to the Hinterlands,” Cassandra said. She waved her hand toward the door. “Dismissed. Go rest up. We’ll leave at dawn.”

Ellana opened the door and looked back. No one else was leaving with her. Leliana and Josephine were whispering to one another, and Cassandra and the Commander began one of their heated, though almost completely silent conversations. Cassandra glanced over at her and then turned enough so that Ellana couldn’t read her lips.

Once again. Left out of all the discussions about what was really going on.

For someone who reportedly was so important to them, she was not a priority.

She let the doors close behind her.

She walked out of the Chantry, her head throbbing and her stomach feeling as though it were seconds from tossing whatever might be left in there. She knew she needed to talk to them about what had happened and what she was doing at the Conclave—

_Gellan was supposed to go, but he broke his hand._

—But she couldn’t remember.

She spat out the bile that came up when she thought about her cousin.

One thing Haven had in abundance up in the mountains was clear, cold air, so she walked and inhaled, trying to clear her head. 

Most of the townspeople she passed stared at her or made the sign of the evil eye. To ward off the effects of the mark on her hand, she supposed. She smiled at them. Most of them hurried past her on whatever business they had.

Outside of town were the stables and some of the non-essential buildings. The soldiers trained out there as well, because there was so much space: fields upon fields. A couple of the young men stared at her in a different way when she walked out and she didn’t smile at them— _shemlen_ men interpreted every single interaction as flirtation, and right now she didn’t feel like dealing with it.

Particularly as she had just vomited on the Commander’s boots. 

She should probably offer to clean them. It wouldn’t be the worst thing she’d ever cleaned up, Mythal knew. But the idea of returning to the Chantry, of even trying to talk to him, made her as sick to her stomach as trying to remember what happened before they found her at the Temple. She was going to let him take care of it. Maybe ruining the Commander’s boots was exactly what she needed to do to convince them trying to remember made her sick.

A group of soldiers sparred in the area to her right, so she turned left to head toward the lake. Usually the only people down there were the soldiers manning the trebuchet, and she could avoid them entirely.

But today Solas was standing out there by the lake, and he turned to look at her before she could duck away. He wore his usual outfit made out of serviceable but not especially attractive homespun wool

Solas. Ellana didn’t know what to make of the apostate mage—and it hadn’t taken long to figure out no one in this fledging Inquisition had any more clue about who he was and where he came from than she did. The way he spoke was strange and his magic was powerful, but he seemed very protective of her. 

“ _Aneth ara, da’len_ ,” he said.

“ _Hahren, aneth ara_ ,” she responded. “How fare you today, Solas?”

“The chosen one of Andraste looks pale this fine morning,” he said.

Did Solas refuse to answer questions from everyone? Ellana wondered. Or was she special somehow, because she was also an elf? 

She nodded. “My stomach is too upset for me to ride on my shining steed of glory.”

“Then let us take a walk,” he said, and they began to walk along the bank of the lake, toward the great untouched fields outside of Haven. “I would suggest a great hero needs a gryphon, but alas, they are extinct.”

Her boots crunched over the frozen grass. The weather had turned warm for a day or two, but then an icy wind had swept in from the south and frozen everything. “A great hero?” she asked.

“This is a war, is it not? You are the Herald of Andraste. Everyone knows great heroes have honorifics.”

“The hero is supposed to get the honorific after he—or she—has done something great.”

The apostate mage stared at her with his curious, intelligent blue eyes. She didn’t know what to make of most of his stares and often he made her anxious with just a simple look. Which was odd: she would have thought she would feel more comfortable with the only elf around who was as much a part of the Inquisition as she was. Of course, he made almost everyone slightly anxious—everyone associated with the Chantry called him a “hedge mage”, but to Ellana all that meant was “a mage not trained by the Chantry.”

Whenever she spent time with Solas, mostly they talked about magic and the Fade, because that’s what he wanted to talk about. She didn’t know much about either: her only magical ability was that her hair usually stayed neat under harsh weather conditions. He also liked talking about the mark on her hand—always inspecting it and asking her questions about it. He seemed to regard her as his pet science experiment.

He was so strange. But since he was the only other elf she saw regularly, he was comforting too.

They began their way up one of the gentler slopes that surrounded Haven, Solas using his staff as a walking stick. The fresh, cool air of the hillside helped her stomach calm down.

“You have done something great and noble, _lethallin_ ,” he said. “You survived the explosion. Your bear the mark. You have the power to close rifts. Who knows what else you may be capable of?”

“Have you witnessed many wars, to know so much?” she asked, laughing.

The mage gave her a sidelong glance. “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefield. I have seen spirits clash in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

How he loved talking about the Fade, she thought. He wanted to discuss it every time they talked, like it was a real place. “I rarely if ever remember my dreams.” 

“You’re having trouble remembering anything,” he said, with that irritating smirk of his. As though he’d been in the War Council room this morning and had seen what happened.

Solas walked toward her—and then reached past her to a plant she didn’t recognize, its tiny purple and yellow blossoms forcing their way through the light cover of snow. He plucked a few of the larger petals off of it and handed them to her. “This lovely little plant is called frostbellia. It doesn’t grow as far north as the Free Marches, but it’s thick down here in Ferelden. Remember what it looks like. Chew the leaves of the flower to settle your stomach.”

Whatever else he was, Solas was a scholar. He would know about plants. She popped the blossoms in her mouth and began chewing. They were surprisingly sweet and melted away as she chewed.

“What ruins and battlefields have you visited?”

He laughed. “They are everywhere across Thedas. When I find one, I sleep there and enter the Fade to see what happened.”

“Isn’t that dangerous? Anything could happen while you’re asleep.”

He laughed. “I do know how to protect myself. I set wards. And if you leave food out for the giant spiders, they are usually content to live and let live.”

_The giant spiders chased her, their poison leaving a trail behind them._

Ellana shuddered and pressed her fingers against her forehead. It was too much for her, having racing thoughts about something that could not have happened. That she didn’t remember. She felt her stomach clench again and she wondered if there was any frostbellia growing nearby.

“Are you all right?” Solas asked.

“You mentioned spiders. They’re not my favorite, even when they’re not giant.”

“I have seen many types of giant spiders on my travels. Even some up in the Free Marches.”

She nodded. “We avoided any such area with all of our skill and care.” 

Recalling her clan’s behavior meant she brought up a memory, but it didn’t make her feel sick. Perhaps only when she _tried_ to remember things. Or perhaps only memories directly connected to the Conclave—

Her stomach squeezed.

“I need to go back to town and lie down for a bit.”

Solas shook his head and he handed her another fistful of frostbellia. “I will remain here. See what a visit to the Fade shows me. What my friends have to tell me.” He put his hand against her cheek, and she was surprised at how charged his touch was against her skin. Since she had come to Haven, no one ever touched her, except to poke and prod at the mark. “Be well, _lethallin_. I will see you tomorrow.”

She nodded. 

As she walked through the gates of the town walls, the first person she saw walking toward her was the Commander. She couldn’t help it: she glanced at his feet.

The boots had already been cleaned. 

“Commander,” she said. “I’m very sorry about…well. You know. Earlier.”

He nodded, his golden brown eyes staring at her. “Does that happen very often?” he asked. Perhaps worried about ever standing within a certain radius of her again.

“You mean…my becoming nauseated without warning?” she asked.

He did not return her smile. He only nodded. 

“Only when I try to remember things. And only since… Well, since I came here. I think. I hope trying to remember things hasn’t always had this effect on me.” 

“But you don’t want to risk trying to remember whether that’s true or not,” he said.

She glanced at him, and only the slightest curl in his lip told her he was aware he’d made a joke. It was only then she noticed the scar on one side of his mouth and that’s why his smile was crooked. It was probably the only non-perfect thing about his features, which of course only served to highlight how unbelievably beautiful the rest of his looks were.

She was probably not the first woman to have noticed that about his face.

It was much easier to notice how handsome he was when he didn’t have the stern and foreboding look he usually wore when she was around.

As if he could read her mind, he returned to his normal, dour expression. “Will you be all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m feeling better.”

“Good. I wish you luck on your trip to the Hinterlands.”

Her conversation with Solas weighed on her. “What is it you expect me to do there?” she blurted out.

“In the Hinterlands?” He squinted at her, perhaps wondering why she hadn’t paid better attention to their discussions in the War Room. _Because you all make me so bloody nervous_ , she thought, but she knew better than to say that out loud. “Well. There are a number of rifts that have opened there. Since that is the area closest to us here in Haven, we’d like to see how closing them affects the mark. And as a consequence affects you. You seem to be in a great deal of pain much of the time and perhaps closing some of the rifts will relieve that.”

She nodded. She couldn’t disagree with that plan. 

“Also, as you know there is the war going on. Between the mages and Templars. The Inquisition would like to end that and get everyone back to working together, instead of killing each other and innocent bystanders.”

“Before it spreads.”

After a moment, he nodded. “The rebel mages have been given sanctuary by the Arl of Redcliffe. Many of them have gone there. Many Templars have followed. There’s…chaos.”

“What are we to do with all of them?”

He gave her a flat smile. “One thing at a time.” He let out a long breath and then shook his head.

“In the north we always hear how solidly organized the south is.”

The Commander chuckled. It was not a happy noise. “Yes. Is that so. There must be complete bedlam in the north if that’s the case.”

“Well, in case you’re ever wondering why the Dalish are nomadic and stay out of the townships…”

He laughed again, this time sounding surprised by it. Then he looked at her. His eyes were such a strange golden color, she thought. “Don’t look so worried. You’ll have Cassandra with you. I look forward to hearing good things.” He nodded at her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He resumed walking, probably to where the soldiers were training.

She put a few more leaves of frostbellia in her mouth and chewed.


	5. First visit to the Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana gets sent to the Hinterlands. She has no idea what they want from her, everyone else already knows one another pretty well, and this THING on her hand keeps acting up. 
> 
> The mission goes kind of poorly.

Ellana had always associated traveling through the woods with _fun_. Traveling with her Clan! Enjoying a cool respite from the heat of the day! Running! 

Whatever she and the rest of her party from Haven were doing in the forest on their way to the Crossroads in the Hinterlands was… Well, that was whatever the opposite of fun was. 

Extremely slow torture, perhaps.

“You okay there, Bright Eyes?” Varric asked her.

She pulled her foot out of the snow drift she had stepped into, and, of course, as it had each and every time this had happened before, the boot stayed behind, stuck in the snow. She jammed her foot back down into the boot…and as usual her toe banged into the snow on the way down, which put lots of the wet, cold stuff into her boot, so now her skin was wet and cold and the inside of the boot was wet and cold. 

Again.

“As fine as ever,” she said.

Everywhere she traveled in Ferelden was freezing cold. How did the _shemlen_ live through these conditions year-round, with the snow and the blasting icy wind and the ice and _did she mention the snow_?

An even more important question: How did Varric tramp through the stuff for hours and hours with his shirt open to the wind and only his chest hair blocking the cold? Dwarves must put off immense body heat, she thought. She thought back to all of the other dwarves she had known, and even the few others she had seen in Haven, and they all remained fully clothed. What was Varric’s story? Ellana wondered.

“We should make camp soon,” Solas said.

“You three whine more than baby birds,” Cassandra said from her position in front. She marched through the untouched snow, creating large footsteps for them to follow in.

Ellana had a pretty good picture in her mind about exactly what kind of person Cassandra was. Shut up, do exactly what she says, and never talk back.

“You stick nice juicy worms in my mouth so I don’t have to cook dinner tonight, I’ll stop whining,” Varric said. 

Varric was wholly different from Cassandra. He was always sarcastic, always talking back. Actually, the best descriptor for him was simply: _always talking_. Ellana knew his constant prattle irritated a lot of people, but she felt comforted by the sound of his voice. She knew where Varric was, he was funny, and he didn’t expect her to keep half the conversation going. True, much of what he talked about was ribald and Cassandra was always telling him not to say those things in front of an unmarried young woman like Ellana. Ellana had learned very quickly what was considered scandalous in the north of the Free Marches and what most _shemlen_ in the south considered scandalous were two very different things. Varric’s off-color comments made everyone—except Cassandra—laugh and put them at ease. 

At least, the most ease you could have in the middle of a holy war.

Cassandra glared at Varric and then made one of those noises deep in her throat, the one Ellana called the _Why me?_ grunt. 

That was unexpected. Usually Varric rated the _Go away_ noise.

She herself mostly elicited Cassandra’s _Are you for real?_ throat clearing. 

Sometimes, late at night, Ellana tried to replicate them. She could never make the sounds happen the same way.

Cassandra found a relatively protected area for them to make camp, at the top of a ridge where it would be easy to see people—or bears—coming at them. She dropped her pack by a tree and pulled out a hunting knife longer and scarier than the one Ellana carried. “I will catch rabbits for dinner,” she said. “Set up the tents and start the fire.” 

“Cassandra, I would be happy to catch something to eat if you want to remain here,” Ellana said. There was no polite way to add, _And I can do it a lot faster than you can_.

“No,” the warrior said.

Ellana wasn’t sure whether Cassandra simply needed to do everything herself or she didn’t trust the Dalish elf not to come back from the hunt.

“Well, there’s a young female deer right over there I could shoot and dress in the time it would take you to find anything else for us.” Ellana pointed to the opposite side of the clearing.

Everyone turned to look where Ellana was pointing.

After a moment, Cassandra said, “Oh. There it is. I see it now.” After a moment, she tightened her lips and then nodded at Ellana.

Ellana picked up her bow and quiver and ran into the forest, seemingly in the wrong direction from the doe. Then she arced around, coming at the deer from the opposite direction.

One shot later, she began to drag the animal back to camp across the mid-calf-high snow. Varric came barreling over. “Let me help you with that.” He grabbed the other two hooves and together they hauled the carcass back to the rest of their party.

“Thank you,” Ellana breathed. 

Outside the camp, they dropped the body and Ellana used her hunting knife to skin and dress the deer in a few minutes. She 

“Andraste’s tits, Bright Eyes, that’s the fastest I’ve ever seen an animal taken apart.”

Ellana rubbed her nose with the back of her hand but got deer blood on her face anyhow. “It’s a skill that’s the difference between life and death where I’m from.”

“Being able to dress an animal is a necessary skill everywhere,” Cassandra said.

“Not the way we have to do it,” Ellana said. “Very bad things happen if we can’t prove we know how to use the knives we carry.”

“We…as in, Dalish elves?” Varric asked.

After a moment, Ellana nodded.

Solas built a roaring fire as Varric and Cassandra prepared the venison steaks to roast. Ellana washed her hands and face in the snow and then looked back at the deer hide and intestines they weren’t using. “We don’t need any of that, do we? We should get rid of it before the bears show up.” 

“I’ll get rid of it,” Cassandra said. “Sit.” 

The Seeker really didn’t want Ellana running off by herself. Where did Cassandra think she could possibly escape to? She would die in a snow drift before she got very far.

She had a feeling death in a snow drift would be the easy way out. Maybe one of these obscenely large, vicious bears they kept running across would raise one large paw and put her out of her misery. She had always heard winter animals hibernated, but apparently these were fairy stories the northern Dalish clans told one another about life in the south, because as far as she could tell, there was nothing but bears everywhere, morning, noon, and night.

She wondered how Fereldans made a life under such conditions, let alone suffering through the Blight. Was the entire country like this: cold, snowy, and dangerous?

The Commander was Fereldan, Ellana thought. He was such an odd man—usually taciturn or ill-tempered, always upset or concerned about something, forever busy with his soldiers or arguing with the other Inquisition leaders. The conversation she had had with him the day before yesterday, before she had left Haven on this mission, had been the longest they had ever spoken to one another, and it was certainly the most congenial. Mostly he told her to trust Cassandra. Which didn’t surprise her: whenever she was in the War Room with Cassandra and the Commander, mostly he spoke to her or deferred to her.

Ellana couldn’t figure out the relationship between the two of them. She thought it was odd for the head of the Inquisition’s forces to defer to someone else, but no one else seemed to think it was strange.

“Are you and the Commander married?” Ellana said.

Cassandra squinted at her.

Solas covered his smile quickly.

Varric burst out into deep laughter. “No, Bright Eyes, they’re not married. I don’t even think they’re knocking boots, unless they’ve been real stealthy about it.” 

“Dwarf, shut up. Why would you think we were married?” Cassandra asked her.

“Because the two of you have entire conversations completely silently,” Ellana said. “You look at one another and everything’s already been said.”

“I’ve seen the two of you do that,” Varric said.

“I have often remarked on that strange facility myself,” Solas said.

Ellana nodded. “Also, the two of you are both soldiers and you’re both very good-looking and you spend all your time together, and I’ve seen marriages built on less—”

Cassandra cleared her throat. “We are not married. Or anything else.” She glared at Varric and her tone brooked no dissension. “I am a Seeker. He is—was a Templar. Perhaps at some point when you want a thorough explanation of the various orders affiliated with the Chantry, I will be happy to explain what that means.”

After a few moments’ of silence, Ellana said, “I have another question, but undoubtedly it’s just as silly as everything else I’ve asked since the day you found me. And this will make Varric will laugh. As he always does at everything I say.”

Varric pulled the cork off a bottle of wine. “Consider me your personal guide to human customs, Bright Eyes.” 

“I assume ‘knocking boots’ means having sex. Why wouldn’t a person take their boots off first?”

Cassandra made the _Are you for real?_ noise.

“It seems uncomfortable,” Ellana said. “Although, I suppose if you were in enough of a hurry or it was this cold out, which of course it always is around here—”

Varric handed her the bottle of wine to hold for him. “Oh, I gotta start writing this stuff down. Bright Eyes, I like your questions a lot. And boy, can I not wait to tell Curly you thought he and the Seeker were married.” 

“Varric Tethras, don’t you dare,” Cassandra said.

After dinner, Cassandra told everyone to do their reports before it got too dark to finish. 

“No one told me we had to write reports,” Ellana said. She opened her mouth to ask _What sort of information goes into a report?_

“Varric, stop whatever you’re doing and write hers for her,” Cassandra said.

The dwarf spat into the fire. “Why do I have to? Chuckles can do it as well I can.”

“Because as you keep reminding us, Tethras, you’re the writer. Extra writing should be right up your alley.” 

Ellana said “But I can—” but Cassandra turned away from her.

Varric patted the log next to him. “Sit down, Bright Eyes. Let’s talk about what you saw and did today.”

Solas stared at the two of them across the fire, still wearing that smirk. He knew. He wouldn’t rat her out, but… he knew.

She would probably have to pay for this by talking to him even more about the thing on her hand.

Later that evening, as Ellana and Solas hunted for more firewood, she said, “They think I’m somewhat stupid, don’t they?”

Solas wore that weird little smile on his face he always had when he spoke with her. “Do you care what they think of you?”

“A little, I guess. I will be living with them for the foreseeable future, after all.”

He nodded. “Then you should probably stop acting like you’re stupid and start telling them what you really know.”

After a couple of minutes, Ellana said, “I did think it was possible they were married.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” Solas said. “For example, among other things, you also know idioms and slang much better than you’ve let on. You understand much more about them than they do about you. And you can _do_ a lot more than you’ve revealed.” 

She studied the bald elf’s serene expression. 

When they returned with the logs and branches, Solas showed her where to drop the firewood. 

Was he being deliberately obtuse? “I’ve been in a camp before.” She looked over at Varric and Cassandra, who sat near the fire. “You all do understand I’m Dalish, right? This is how we live. With much less snow, true, but I do know what I’m doing.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I’ll take the first watch. Solas, you’re second. Varric, you’re third.”

Ellana should have argued with her about not even being trusted enough to take one of the watches, but she didn’t care: she was exhausted, she had marched through snow all day, and proving she was trustworthy could wait until the morning. She crawled into the tent she and Cassandra would share and fell asleep within seconds. 

In the middle of the night, she woke up suddenly. Bolts of pain shot through her hand, and when she pulled it out of her sleeping roll, the green mark lit up the entire tent as it hissed and sparked.

Cassandra sat bolt upright, her face eerie in the green light. She couldn’t have been asleep for very long. “What is it?”

“My hand—a rift has opened nearby,” Ellana said. She was in so much pain she was arching backward.

“What do you need?”

“It’s too close—this hurts.” She muttered a quick prayer to Mythal in _elvhen_ , but the pain kept increasing. “I have to close that rift now.”

The flap to their tent opened. “What’s wrong?” Solas asked.

“Her mark flared. We have to go.”

The elf nodded. “I’ll wake Varric.” 

The four of them dressed and stood by the campfire, each of them looking a different direction into the dark, foreboding woods around them. Overhead, a million stars lit up the sky. 

“Which way?” Cassandra asked.

Ellana held up her hand and moved it around. Every direction hurt, but one seemed to tug at her hand more. “This way. To the closest one, at any rate.”

They doused the campfire but left the tents and bedrolls. Cassandra took the lead, but Ellana said, “Maybe I should be in front? Well, my hand should, at any rate.” 

“We will walk together,” Cassandra said.

The mark lit up the forest in front of them well enough that even through the black of night they could run without hitting anything. After half a mile, though, the horizon lit up in front of them with a larger column of green light. A rift.

Four demons scrabbled near the light—hungry for whatever they might find, but unwilling to leave the security of the tie back to the Fade. Large, ugly things with mouths full of teeth and hands full of teeth and a willingness to attack anything.

Cassandra drew her sword. “When we clear one demon—”

“Another comes through. We got it, Seeker,” Varric said. 

She had to balance firing her bow at things trying to kill her while holding her hand open to the rift. The field had to be somewhat clear before she could rush forward and join the mark in her hand with the energy in the rift, so she had to rely on the others to kill the demons before they killed her. It took several tries and a lot of interfering demons, but eventually she felt the _tug_. On the mountainside, when Cassandra had dragged her up to close the rift there, she had felt the same tug. Fade energy from the rift rushed down to the mark on her hand, and eventually the entire rip from the Fade closed up. 

Ellana bent over, the sides of her fists balancing on her knees as she tried to catch her breath.

“Are you all right, Herald?” Solas asked. He grabbed her arm, avoiding touching her hand.

“So tired,” she said.

“Lean on my staff,” he said.

They stumbled back to the camp. Ellana had to stop and rest along the way several times, feeling drained and unable to go one step more. 

“One foot in front of the other, Herald,” Cassandra ordered her. The authority in the Seeker’s voice was the main force that kept Ellana’s feet moving. 

When they finally returned to the tents, it was just before dawn. Ellana crawled into a tent while the others set up the campfire again. Varric noticed 

“Hey, Bright Eyes, that’s my bedroll—oh, she’s out,” Varric said. 

“We should all try to sleep, at least for a little while,” Cassandra said. “If this is like the last time she closed a rift, she won’t move for two days.”

~ O ~

“She slept ten hours,” Cassandra said. “When she finally stirred, we broke camp and headed directly back to Haven. No use trying to kill her during her first week.”

She sat across a table at the Singing Maiden from Cullen, the three reports from the trip to the Hinterlands spread on the table between them. 

“Ten hours is an improvement over two days,” he said. 

Cassandra muttered her agreement. And something else.

“What was that?” he asked, amused.

“She doesn’t understand snow.” 

That made him laugh. “Have you ever been in the northern Free Marches?” he asked. “It’s a little warmer there than it is here. The coldest day there is warmer than summer here. She’s probably wearing more clothes here in Haven than she’s ever owned in her entire life.” 

Cassandra laughed at that. “Spend a lot of time imagining women wearing less clothing, have you, Rutherford?” When he tossed his napkin at her, she batted away and shook her head. “Ach, she’s a lot of work.” 

“Don’t take shortcuts to the Crossroads next time,” he told her.

“At least not until she learns how to put the proper socks on. She doesn’t understand the weather. And she’s not very invested in what we’re doing.” 

“Be fair, Cassandra. She’s not invested in it at all. The only reason she’s here with us is that something happened in the Temple of Sacred Ashes and saddled her with that mark on her hand. She doesn’t want to be here, but so far she’s willing to be and she hasn’t run away. For which we should be at least a tiny bit grateful.” 

Varric walked into the tavern, his usual notebook under one arm. His face broke out into a wide grin when he saw the two of them sitting together. 

“Hey there, Seeker. Did you tell Curly what Bright Eyes said during our little camping adventure?” Varric said.

“No, Varric, I did not. And you should not—”

“She thought maybe you and the Seeker here were married,” Varric said, cackling.

Cullen spat out the mouthful of beer he had just taken. “She what?”

Cassandra raised her glass. “She doesn’t understand a lot of things,” she said. “This is not going to be fun.” 

“Really?” Varric said. “‘Cause I think the whole damn thing is _hilarious_.”


	6. Training with the Commander

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On their second attempt to take the Herald into the Hinterlands, she nearly gets the entire party killed because she won't kill the mage attacking their party.
> 
> Cassandra decides extreme measures are called for, and she wants Cullen to get the Herald into fighting shape. 
> 
> The Commander discovers his feelings about the Herald may be somewhat more complicated than he thought they were, and nobody ever said Cullen Rutherford was good at dealing with his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, finally Ellana gets to spend some time with Cullen.
> 
> And hopefully this long chapter will carry you through the weekend!

If the first time they went to the Hinterlands went poorly, the second time was fucking disastrous. Because Ellana nearly got the entire party killed. 

It was the same four as last time—Ellana, Cassandra, Solas, and Varric—and this time they stayed to the main road. Or what had been the main road, once upon a time. But this time they came upon a camp of rebel mages. A well-hidden camp of rebel mages.

They discovered the mages were there when the first bolt of electricity knocked Varric to the side. Cassandra knocked the staff out of the first mage’s hand and Varric neatly pinned the second.

Ellana stood there, her bow in her hand, the arrow pointed at the ground. She couldn’t move.

The third rebel mage appeared from behind the grove of trees nearby, the staff in her hand. 

Ellana saw the mage. She had a clear shot. She froze. 

Cassandra saw Ellana staring and then what she was staring at. 

The mage at the trees raised her staff.

“Shoot!” Cassandra yelled.

Ellana panicked. She couldn’t let the arrow fly. A lifetime of training of what to do when faced with a _shemlen_ who might kill you rushed through her. _Run and hide_ , the voice said. _Run before they catch you_. 

She couldn’t abandon Cassandra. But she couldn’t do what the Seeker wanted her to either.

She lowered the bow from the mage’s face and aimed at the mage’s hand instead.

At the last second the mage’s hand moved, and Ellana’s arrow flew past, sailing into the trees.

The mage whirled around and threw a fire bolt at Ellana. 

Solas froze the fire bolt mid-stream. And then he froze the mage in a block of ice. 

Varric scrambled down the hill he had been perched on and Cassandra jumped to her feet. The Seeker was furious. 

“What is wrong with you?” she screamed at Ellana. “When a member of your party is threatened, you protect them!”

Ellana burst into tears. “I’m sorry!” 

“You’re sorry?” Cassandra yelled. “I’ll show you what sorry is, you idiot.” 

Varric stood between Cassandra and Ellana. “Whoa. Seeker. Put the sword away. Bright Eyes, take a step back. Solas, you can help at any time now.” 

“ _Lethallan_ , what’s wrong?” Solas asked.

“I can’t do this. I can’t kill people,” Ellana said.

“You had better learn!” Cassandra screamed at her. 

“What do you mean, you can’t kill people?” Varric said.

Ellana sank onto the ground, unable to move. She refused to say another word. 

Which worked out well, because Cassandra absolutely refused to talk to her.

~ O ~

A day of very fast, silent hiking later, they made it back to Haven. Cassandra told the Herald to sit in the house and _DO NOT MOVE_ until she returned. Then she marched through town to the gates and from there to the training field just outside, where Cullen was working with the recruits. She didn’t say a word. She simply vibrated with rage as she tried to find her voice.

So he said, “Cassandra. I am glad to see you’ve returned safely.” He signaled to Knight-Captain Rylen to take his place before escorting Cassandra away to a spot where few people would be able to hear them. “I also see you’ve returned earlier than expected. _Two weeks_ early, by my reckoning.” 

“She nearly got us all killed,” Cassandra said.

 _She._ The Herald. Whatever had happened, Cassandra was beyond furious. “That’s a very strong statement.”

Cassandra nodded. “And a very true one. We were ambushed by rebel mages and she had a clear shot…and she didn’t take it. She missed.” 

Cullen knew Cassandra well enough to know that willful failure rated several steps lower in her estimation than incompetence. “Did you ask her why?”

“Varric did. I’ve barely been able to say a civil word to her since.”

“And what did she say when he asked?”

“She can’t kill anyone. She can’t kill people. Those were her words.” Cassandra snorted. “She’s joined in taking down a rampaging bear, so she should be more than capable of taking out one skinny mage. And when Varric asked her what happened, all she said was, ‘I can’t kill people.’” The Seeker’s face twisted into a mask of rage. “This is a war, you idiot, of course you can. You have to.”

“You called her an idiot to her face, I presume,” he said.

Cassandra pursed her lips. “Possibly one of the nicer words I used, when I used any at all.” 

His hands began to tremble in his gloves as the pulse point in his left temple pounded with hammer strikes against his skull. Training soldiers was the easy part of his job. That, he could do all day long. Keeping the members of the Inquisition from killing one another was not in his main skill set—that was _Cassandra’s_ job, dammit. “And I suppose you want me to deal with this.” 

“Yes. Make it clear she may very well have to kill a lot of people before this is over. If I try to teach her, though, I might end up strangling her.”

Well, he thought. This is war. Killing was one of the things they had to do. And Maker knew he was better at it than any of them. “Where is she?”

“I left her in the house.” 

He turned to head back toward the gates of Haven. Cassandra didn’t move. “Oh, no. I’m not doing this alone. If I’ve spoken more than three sentences to her since the Conclave, I’d be surprised. You’re coming right along with me.”

The Herald of Andraste—Maker, who came up with that name?—had listened to Cassandra’s instruction and not moved since she had been left in the house. She sat in the front parlor by the fireplace, stationary. She didn’t look at them when he and Cassandra walked into the house, she didn’t say a word. She simply sat and stared. It dawned on Cullen he hadn’t seen her motionless very often—she was usually in motion running from place to place. 

“Get up,” Cassandra told her.

The Dalish elf stood up, looking for all the world like one of those marionettes used by puppeteers during the Satinalia shows for children. A mud-spattered, exhausted female marionette. 

He saw her every morning at the War Table, but he never really looked at her. She was taller than most city elves he had known, and definitely taller than most Dalish elves. Not as tall as Cassandra, but as slender and muscular as she was, if somewhat more…busty. Wasn’t that a problem for her, since she used a bow all the time? He shook his head. Asking that question wasn’t going to end well for him, he thought. And it wasn’t the main problem they were having right now.

Cassandra cleared her throat and looked at him. When he didn’t say anything, she said, “What you did yesterday was unforgivable. The Commander is going to make damned sure that never happens again.”

It dawned on him he had never started a conversation with the woman. Had he ever addressed her directly? He didn’t think he had—he had no reason to. He usually just joined in on a conversation someone else had already started. 

The title “the Herald of Andraste” died on his tongue. He didn’t even think of himself as particularly religious these days—yes, he prayed and he attended services, but after Kirkwall he had reconsidered a lot of things, including his faith. But actually uttering those words was simply too blasphemous for him. There was not a chance the Maker’s Bride would have sought out a Dalish elf as her representative.

“Lady Lavellan, Seeker Pentaghast has asked me—”

“ _Lady_ ,” the Dalish woman sneered. “ _Fenedhis_. No, Commander, do not call me ‘Lady Lavellan.’ I certainly won’t answer to it. My people don’t use titles like that. And since your aristocracy doesn’t treat elves particularly well, I have no desire to follow their customs. My name is Ellana.”

Cullen looked at Cassandra, who closed her eyes and rubbed her hand over her face. “Call her the Herald,” she muttered.

“Why can’t he just use my name?” the Herald asked. “Is this one of these situations you’re always banging on about where something wouldn’t be proper? It’s all right for me to kill people, but not for him to call me Ellana?”

Cassandra glared at Cullen, who held up his hand to tell her to be quiet. Even if he were inclined to call this woman by her first name—which he absolutely would not do—he recognized a challenge when he heard it. He was not going to do a damned thing she told him to do.

“Good. You understand our social rules completely,” he said. “That will save time. It would not be appropriate for me to use your given name. So I will do as the Seeker suggests and refer to you as the Herald. And you will answer to that.”

The Herald made a noise. It sounded so much like one of Cassandra’s he was surprised. “ _Shemlen_ ,” she whispered. The disparaging slang term elves used for humans. Well, he supposed he had heard enough slurs sent the other way. “Please don’t call me that either.”

“Why not?” he snapped.

“Because I find the title ‘Herald of Andraste’ ridiculous and you find it blasphemous. See? Something we can agree on, after a fashion. Tell me, Commander, what do you call the lowliest recruits in your army?”

“I use their surname.”

“Well, I don’t have one of those. But I’m the only member of my clan here, so why don’t you call me Lavellan?” she said. 

Maker’s mercy, he had had no idea the Dalish woman was such an irritating, spoiled little brat, on top of her evidently being an incompetent idiot who might let members of her party die because of a juvenile conviction about proper behavior or whatever. Cullen clutched his hand into a fist. “That will be fine. Right now you will come with me, _Lavellan_. We will work on your ability to fire at targets and to follow orders. We will keep at it until you can fire an arrow no matter what the situation and no matter what your personal feelings on the matter are. I suggest you keep up with me. Run, if you need to.”

He grabbed her bow and led her out of the house and through the town square. Everyone even slightly in Cullen’s way scrambled to clear the path before he walked straight over them. He headed out of town toward the archers’ area just outside of the town walls. He rested the bow against the box of arrows before walking over to the targets. 

“I’ve got the point, thanks,” she called to him. “We don’t have to do this.”

“In fact, we do. The Seeker has made your competence my personal responsibility. You have to be able to kill people, Lavellan.”

“Why can’t everyone else do it? They kill them, I seal the rifts.”

“Because there come the times when you need to protect the other people with you and you failed, Lavellan. We have a mission. We want to end the war between the mages and Templars. You want to seal the Breach and get that thing off your hand. Lots of people want to stop us from doing all of those things. That’s when violence breaks out. And sometimes you need to respond to violence with violence.”

“And you’re going to teach me how to do that?”

He nodded. “I’m the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. That is what I do.” 

“How many people have you killed, Commander?” she asked.

 _Dozens. Scores. Hundreds._ Sometimes when he closed his eyes all he could see was the sea of blood in Kirkwall. “Precise numbers aren’t the point,” he answered. “What is important is that if the moment comes, you have to do what needs to be done.” 

“I know, but—”

He rounded on her. “No, you do _not_ know. You would not be here right now if you knew. I would not have to spend time with you instead of drilling my soldiers if you knew. You agreed to work for the Inquisition and yet your first time out you have failed, spectacularly. Cassandra told me what happened—”

“I made a mistake.”

“Do not interrupt me again,” he thundered at her. The force of his voice made her take a step backward. “You nearly got everyone killed. You are not ready to do what you swore you would do. So now I will work with you until you are ready. I will be the sole judge of when you are ready to do anything else. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded.

“Do not utter another word until I give you permission to speak.” He walked toward the next field, where soldiers were working on basic training maneuvers. “Gadsbury!” he yelled.

The Knight-Lieutenant ran over to him. “Ser?”

“I want you to gather every single arrow we have in our camp at the moment and bring it here. Use as many soldiers as you need to carry them.” He turned away as Gadsbury ran off. “In the meantime, Lavellan, you will use what you have with you now on those target dummies. And you will reuse them until new arrows arrive.” 

“You can’t reuse an arrow,” Lavellan said.

He exaggerated a reaction of surprise. “So you always bring enough arrows with you when you go out? I’ve never found that to be true for my archers. But it is amazing what they can make fly when they have enough incentive. How interesting that Dalish elves can’t do that. And here we are always told they’re so clever.”

Her glare was murderous.

He didn’t care. “I warned you about speaking out of turn, and so quickly you disobey me. You have earned the first punishment recruits get for disobeying a direct order. Run to the pine tree on that hill marked with paint ten times without stopping. Go.” 

She glared at him. And then she chuckled.

“Congratulations. Now you will make that circuit twenty times, without stopping once. I suggest you do this one. The next punishment is you carry the bucket of rocks by the gate there as you do the circuit fifty times.”

She immediately spun in the opposite direction and ran. He had to give her that: she ran up and down that hill to the pine tree daubed with yellow paint twenty times without stopping. She always returned to where he stood, her front foot reaching him before she turned on her heel and set off again. 

After the twentieth interval, she stopped in front of him, her face red from the cold air and her breathing was as loud as her voice normally was. But she stood there like that run had been little more than a mildly taxing spin around the yard. 

Most of the young men he made run that gauntlet could barely stand after twenty circuits, he noticed. She was clearly much more accustomed to hard, fast running than most of the soldiers were. 

Perks of being Dalish, he supposed.

“Pick up your bow and stand at the first set of markers. Let’s see if you have any skills at all. Hit all of the dummies in the head.”

She did it. Every one of her arrows landed almost perfectly in the center of the dummies’s heads. 

“Collect the arrows,” he told her.

She ran over and plucked them out.

“Put them here,” he said, starting a new pile apart from the fresh new arrows. “Now. Do it again.” 

When she finished with that, he nodded. 

“Your basic form is excellent. However, aiming at the head is a waste of a good arrow. It’s a small target compared to the body.”

She raised her hand to indicate she wanted to speak.

He ignored her. He knew what she was going to say. “Yes, usually the body is covered by armor and the head is not. But the torso is always a larger and better target than the head, especially when the person is in motion. We’ll get to what you should look for when firing at someone who is wearing various types of armor. For now, we simply train with the obvious target, the body.” He pointed to the fifty yard markers. “Excellent. Move to that post. Let’s see how you do aiming for the heart at that distance.”

She was good. She was very good. She could do all the basic maneuvers. He moved her to the hundred and fifty yard markers and she still hit everything he told her to. True, she was standing still and the dummies were standing still and no one was firing back at her. But her problem was not her ability to use the bow or to hit a target.

The sun was setting by the time he decided enough was enough.

“One more set of exercises and then we’ll call it a day,” he said.

“I can’t!” she said. Tears ran down her face and she dropped her bow to the ground. When she realized she had spoken without permission, she put one hand over her mouth and held the other one to her chest, bent in a claw. He knew that her left hand hurt her already because of the mark. Probably firing arrows for hours had made her hands seize up.

He ignored the infraction and pulled both her hands away from her body, his fingers pushing her hands open, palms up. Above the glowing green mark on her left hand, the pads had blistered and cracked. The crook of her right index finger had bled for a while, but the blood had already crusted over. 

She hadn’t given any indication of being in pain until that moment. 

 _Congratulations, Rutherford_ , he thought, _you’ve managed to hound the Inquisition’s Herald into scarring herself_. Well, there was a reason Cassandra had sought him out for this job, he supposed.

“That will have to be enough for today. Get some ointment and bandages on those.” He dropped her hands. “We’ll start again at dawn.”

“Tell me you’re joking!” she screamed at him. “I can’t even feel my fingers!”

He nodded. “You will be here every morning at dawn doing this, over and over again, until you can hit those targets without thinking and without questioning the need for why you need to hit them. Until you can hit the spots in the armor I tell you to. Until I can be certain that the next time you walk out of Haven, you will do your damnedest to make sure you entire party makes it back in one piece.”

He stared down at her. “Because if anything happens to a member of the Inquisition because you failed to act when you could, I will kill you myself.” 

She stared at him, those large green eyes focused on him like he was one of the targets in her sights. “You don’t like me, do you?”

Cassandra’s report about what happened on their mission certainly left him feeling unkindly toward her. Other than that, he had never thought much about her at all. He had felt curiosity as to why she was the only survivor at the Temple that day and where the mark came from and how it worked. Beyond that, he had paid very attention to their strange Dalish visitor. Despite why she had been forced to come here with him, she worked very hard and she was talented and when she wasn’t dirty and sweaty she was halfway decent to look at. But did he like her? What an odd question.

“I don’t have to like people to work with them. I do, however, want all of them to live to see tomorrow.” 

She flexed her right hand. “As long as they do what you tell them,” she said.

He had no interested in arguing the point with her, especially as she was absolutely correct. And now he had a moment to think about it, he was tired too. He was always tired, both in his body and in his thoughts. “Get back through the gates. They’ll be locking them soon. Get ointment from Adan’s apothecary. You clearly need to start developing deeper calluses than you’ve got.”

~ O ~

His schedule had always started at dawn with a million things to do, but until Cassandra was satisfied he needed to pass off most of his responsibilities. The Knight-Captains took over the inspections and drilling. The Knight-Lieutenants monitored of the first five mile run of the day. 

His job was now Lavellan. 

Every dawn she met him at the archery field, where she used barrels and barrels of arrows. Every morning. Over and over. 

The most common words he spoke to her were, “Do it _again_.” 

She had to shoot while talking to him. While listening to him and answering questions. Facing away from the target. Running from side to side. After running a ten mile circuit around Haven. 

By the third day, she stopped eating before she came to the field, because she worked so hard—because _he_ made her work so hard—that after an hour of training she vomited. Just like she had that day in the War Room. At least on the archery field she managed to miss his boots. When she stopped eating, she stopped vomiting. She chewed a lot of some flower as they worked, though.

Harritt created a mechanism, based on a clothesline, that pulled dummies back and forth, creating a moving target. She hit the dummies he told her to, in the order he told her.

Nothing fazed her. She could hit the weak spot in any armor the dummies wore, she could tear out the exposed throat, she could pierce the slightest bit of open flesh. And she never complained, she never talked back, and she never refused to do any of it.

And she never stopped. No matter whether she was exhausted, angry, in the middle of the freezing rain, or unable to draw the string all the way back, she kept at it. He had worked with hardened soldiers who would drop before she would.

She had been a good archer the first time he had seen her. Now she was better than almost any he had ever seen since he had first joined the Templars.

One day, after she had hit one of the dummies in the back of the moving target from two hundred yards away, he nodded. And then he said, “You don’t like me either, do you.” 

She looked at him. 

“You may speak,” he said.

“You don’t want me to like you, _ser_ ,” she said, and then she drew the bowstring back.

True enough, he thought. Not having people like him made his dealings with nearly everyone so much easier, come to think of it. Every so often a feeling of being lonely or somehow disconnected from everyone around him crept through his thoughts, but all he had to do was remember Kirkwall—or Kinloch Hold—and the feeling disappeared. Bad things happened when he felt he belonged somewhere or felt kinship with someone. It was much better to avoid the feeling altogether.

Lavellan’s arrow pierced the right eye of the dummy he had ordered her to hit.

She was really, really good, he thought.

“Slightly off-center, try again,” he said, and he heard her make a tiny sigh.

~ O ~

Almost four weeks after they started, the sky was clear as the first rays of sun lighted up the eastern horizon.

“Today we go hunting,” he told her.

“You may have heard in passing gossip that I am Dalish. I already know how to hunt, _ser_ ,” she said.

“I may have heard something about that,” he said. 

They headed into the woods near Haven, which were dense to the point of the morning light being crowded out by thickly interwoven branches.

“You have been in these woods,” he said.

“I have been in many woods in my life, Commander.” 

He smiled. Excellent point. “What’s the largest thing you’ve ever killed?”

She considered the question. “A doe.” 

“We’re looking for something larger. Preferably something that could attack you back.”

“So. A very large doe,” she said, and he felt himself laugh, which surprised him. “Or a bear. There are also wild pigs and boars and quite a few other things too,” she said.

“We are looking for deer. The larger, the better, preferably a full-grown buck. You will strike it where I tell you. Its leg, its side, or whatever.”

“While it’s racing away or possibly coming at me with its tree of antlers.”

“It’s a joy working with someone who’s quick on the uptake,” he said.

“What happens if I miss?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Then we keep at this until you can do it precisely,” he said.

“Or until I’m stabbed by an antler or trampled into the forest floor.” 

“I am deeply hopeful you make it through the day without suffering hoof marks.” 

She chuckled. “I’m glad.”

They hiked for miles into the forest as the sun came up. They saw a few smaller deer, younger animals barely bigger than fawns and a few does. When they saw a doe walking with two fawns, he held up his hand. She nodded and began scanning the woods around them for the buck who would be nearby.

Lavellan separated from him, walking down the hill from the family of deer, while Cullen moved sideways, toward a large patch of sunlight visible through the branches. A clearing in the middle of the forest, somehow clear of the dense tree growth. 

In the middle of the clearing filled with knee-high grasses stood the buck, separated from his mate and offspring.  Ten evenly spaced points across the impressive rack of the antlers, the sign of a large and fierce animal. Its shoulder stood taller than Cullen did, and its legs could probably kick a hole in the town walls around Haven. Cullen was not at all sure she would be able to take this animal down by herself. 

He turned to watch what she was doing. She was carefully picking her way through the forest, making no noise whatsoever as she moved. Every couple of yards, she turned to check on him.

On the archery field she was sullen and obedient, her aim excellent and her form perfect and her movements like one of those automatons Cullen had once seen an inventor show off at a street fair in Kirkwall. 

But here, though, in the forest, Lavellan was more at ease. More her real self. She slipped through the underbrush like she was swimming through water. Her body, so rigid and correct on the archery field or in town, became relaxed and confident, something as simple as turning her head morphing from a rigorous area check to a sensuous scan of the space around them. Her home really was in a forest, he thought, even if her home forest wasn’t one like this.

He raised his hand and signaled for her to return to him.

She glided over the dense buildup of leaves and ferns without making a sound until she stood next to him. He pointed to the buck. “Front left haunch,” he whispered.

“Our left or its?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

Both on the field and in the wild she was impertinent and erratic though, even after a month of taking orders from him. He did not respond to her question. She knew what he meant. He also knew that probably the buck would attack at that point.

Lavellan raised her bow and drew back the arrow. Many mornings he had noticed how unbelievably quiet she could be—it wasn’t simply in comparison to the noises the soldiers made nearby or the day getting started in town. No, she made no noise whatsoever. He wondered how the Dalish trained themselves to be so quiet. 

Before she could fire, however, the buck bounded away into the darkness of the forest on the other side of the clearing. Could it have been startled by her movements? he thought.

He was about to say something when she whipped around to face the expanse of woods behind them, the arrow still primed. She lodged her lead foot against his boot and steadied herself against him as she let the arrow fly.

He turned.

The largest wild boar he had ever seen in his life—as tall as that doe and twice as wide—raced directly toward them, all iron-tough skin covered with thick bristles and a mane, its face protected by two large curved tusks that would tear right through his armor, let alone her leathers.

She had fired off three arrows before it even occurred to him to pull out his sword. One arrow lodged in the animal’s back, one impaled the right front leg’s joint, and one poked out of its eye. 

The boar didn’t even slow down.

She fired a fourth arrow, catching it in its open mouth, and then she leaped upward and grabbed a branch. She swung her body to the side like a pendulum, her boots pointing away from Cullen. The boar followed the motion of her feet, arcing toward her—and away from him. She lifted her feet up and locked them around the branch.

Cullen brought out his sword and drew it along the boar’s side as it tore past him. Arterial blood spurted out but the animal didn’t even seem to notice, its legs pumping against the bed of leaves on the ground. It kept going for another twenty yards before it finally collapsed, its intestines oozing out of the stomach wall. 

From her position hanging from the tree, Lavellan strung another arrow in the bow and shot the boar through the top of its head.

The boar’s leg kept kicking and its head reared up, but it didn’t get back up again. 

She reached up with one arm to hold on to the branch before letting her feet go, and then she dropped out altogether. She walked backward to where Cullen stood, her focus on the boar. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard. 

He was in the same state. Maker, that moment was terrifying. That had scared him.

But she didn’t look scared. She looked like a forest spirit. The nanas told stories around the campfire about the wild forest nymphs who lured poor hapless young men away to their doom. When Cullen was a boy, he could never understand why the heroes of those stories threw everything away for some wild creature who he only spied once.

Until now. Now, he understood.

Lavellan lowered the bow and turned around to face him. 

“Are you all right?” she asked him. With her large green eyes with their gigantic pupils and her pink cheeks and the line of sweat disappearing into the top of her shirt.

He put his hand on her arm. And immediately pictured himself putting his other hand around his waist in order to pull her toward him.

And kiss her.

Oh Maker. He was practically overwhelmed by the need to kiss her.

No, he didn’t just want to kiss her. He wanted to shove his mouth against hers and hear her gasp for breath. He wanted to press her body on the forest carpet underneath his and feel her breath against his face. The pull of her hands entwined around his neck. Her legs around his hips. 

The vision—complete with her cries of ecstasy driving him on and the sensation of her skin on his—was so complete that he had trouble figuring out which one was real: the two of them mating on the ground beneath them, or the two of them standing there seconds after being attacked.

He blinked. They were standing there. She was staring at him. 

What the Void was wrong with him?

Sure, he was happy to be alive, but he had been in enough life and death situations in his life and he hadn’t wanted to kiss any of the people standing with him, let alone immediately press his body down on theirs. And what he was feeling certainly wasn’t gratitude—he thanked people by thanking them, not fucking them. He had spent the past three and a half weeks with her, for hours every morning, and such a dangerous, crazy thought had never once crossed his mind.

Until now. 

 _Say something before you do anything stupid and ill-advised_ , he told himself. _For once in your damned life._

“Commander?” she said, and she took another step toward him. With her pupils large and her lips wet.

If he didn’t move out of her way, if he didn’t stop her, she was going to kiss him. He was completely certain of it. As certain as he was that he would let her. And how that kiss would end up.

He cleared his throat. “So you can kill when circumstances warrant it.” 

She stopped moving toward him. “What?” she said. 

He pointed to the boar. “Most likely we would both be dead if you hadn’t reacted as fast as you did. You can defend yourself and the people you’re with just fine. It’s clear from having watched you for the past month you’re eminently capable of doing what needs to be done. That day in the Hinterlands, you didn’t. Why not?”

She lost the rapturous expression she had been wearing and backed up from him.

“You’ve made your point.” 

“What point is that?”

“I’m here for one thing and one thing only,” she said. “Nothing else. I need to kill things.”

“What happened that day? Why didn’t you shoot the mage?”

All the color was gone from her face now. Any highly charged emotions she might have been feeling a few moments ago were gone. So were his, thank the Maker. He could still imagine kissing her and running his hands through her hair and he could still imagine how wonderful it would feel. Thankfully, though, the need to put his hands on her wasn’t the overwhelming compulsion it had been only a minute before. That was good. He was in charge of his emotions. His imagination.

His hands shook, though.

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Do you know what the punishment is in the north of the Free Marches if a _shem_ …a human kills an elf?” she asked quietly. 

He shook his head.

She nodded. “You are correct. There is none. There is no penalty I’ve ever heard of a _shemlen_ receiving for murdering an elf. Now, do you know what the punishment is if an elf kills a human, Commander? Can you guess what happens?”

He shook his head again.

“The elf and his or her entire clan is tortured and executed. Doesn’t matter if it’s self-defense or what the reason is. Everybody dies.” Her breathing had sped up again. “You wonder why I am unwilling to kill humans, Commander? That’s why.”

“That’s barbaric,” he said.

“It’s utterly _adorable_ you think so,” she said, her disdain dripping from every syllable. “I assure you it is the truth.”

Maker, he had had no idea how she felt about the people—the _humans_ she worked with in the Inquisition. About being forced to work with them. “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” When her entire response was a raised eyebrow, he said, “Because you thought we knew.”

“I haven’t found attitudes towards elves are particularly more warm and welcoming here in the South,” she said. “Almost exactly the same as where I come from, in fact.”

“You don’t trust us.”

“Would the Commander care to remember the first time we met?” 

The one survivor of the explosion and they had tossed her in a jail cell. He remembered her sitting there, miserable and dirty, looking for all the world like she wasn’t capable of feeding herself, let alone blowing up the Temple of Sacred Ashes.

 _It hurts_ , she had cried.

Actually, that wasn’t the day they had met. He had found her outside the ruins of the Temple, the only survivor of the blast. 

 _Then_ he had thrown her in jail.

Now in the forest, she definitely appeared more capable of a lot of things. He looked down at her left hand, which was gripping the bow. She had much darker calluses on the pads of her fingers now. The glow from the mark leaked out around the wood of the weapon. 

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

“Every moment of every day,” she said. 

Whoever this woman was, every aspect of her life had changed dramatically in the months since they had found her at the Conclave and discovered her connection to the rifts that had broken out all over Ferelden and Orlais. They demanded she live with them, work with them, and train until her hands bled. Now it turned out they were asking her to act against one of the most closely held strictures he had ever heard of. 

The poor bedraggled elf he and Cassandra had found at the Temple couldn’t do it. This woman needed to be able to.

“Well, Ellana Lavellan, today you are known far and wide as the Herald of Andraste and you are no longer in the Free Marches,” he said. “You are a founding member of the Inquisition. And if you have to kill someone, including humans, do it. Someone has a problem with it, I will be happy to set them straight for you. At sword point. If need be, with an army.”

“Three hundred soldiers isn’t much of an army.”

“Outside of Orlais, no one else has much of one at the moment either,” he said. “And ours happens to be better trained than most.”

“Yes, that I am quite sure of, first hand,” she said, her voice quiet.

Over the past few weeks she had taken everything he had thrown at her. He hadn’t spent this much time working one on one with anyone in years and until these past few moments he hadn’t even really noticed her as woman. The need to cross the space between them and put his arms around her was threatening to overwhelm him.

He wished to the Maker this feeling, this need would go away already. Couldn’t he go back to how he had seen her this morning?

She didn’t seem to notice how uncomfortable he felt. She looked around the forest, as though checking for more threats. “Have we done enough for today? I need something to eat before we meet in the War Room.” 

“Good idea,” he said. “We need to leave before the boar’s blood attracts the scavengers. Pity we have to leave the skin.”

He was shaking, he realized. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the boar’s attack or his unwanted thoughts.

“I can skin it for you if you like,” she said.

No. He couldn’t remain here with her. His skin itched and his hands kept flexing, wanting to grab her. 

He shook his head. “Next time,” he said, and he started walking off without her.

~ O ~

Cullen found Cassandra in the town square arguing with Chancellor Roderick. He grabbed Cassandra’s arm and yanked her away. “This is more important, Chancellor,” he said. 

The Chancellor made a face at him. “What could be more important than—”

Cullen slammed the door shut as soon as Cassandra exited.

Outside of the Chantry Cassandra said, “Thank you. That man makes me see red. My vision literally changes color when I talk to him.”

“I need to tell you something Lavellan—the Herald said today.” He recounted what she had said about what happened if an elf killed a human. 

Cassandra reacted much the same way he had: complete shock. “No wonder she wouldn’t do kill that mage.”

He nodded. “First time she’s said anything to me about these restrictions.”

“The two of you have met every morning for a month and she’s only told you this now. What else do the two of you spend your time talking about?” she asked.

“Usually I give her better things to do than talk,” he said.

She grunted. “You just don’t think about how your words sound before you say them.”

She might have thought that was a joke. But her comment reminded him of those few seconds when he desperately wanted to put his hands everywhere on Lavellan. “Cassandra,” he said.

She waved his annoyance off. “Do you think she got the point that punishment will not happen here?” she asked.

“I honestly don’t know. It certainly makes me wonder what else we don’t know about her or her outlook on the world. Or anything.”

“You’re right.” She batted her hand against his vambrace. “You’re smarter than you look, Rutherford.”

“And it took you until now to figure that out. Charming,” he said.

Cassandra clucked her tongue. “Where should we start?” 

“Write her clan for more information. Anything they can tell us about her day to day life, what she did up there, was she promised to be married?” Maker, she could be married or have a family and they would have no idea. The Inquisition knew almost nothing about the woman. And Lavellan had volunteered almost nothing, whether because her memory problems were real or a convenient excuse. “Anything they can tell us. We literally have no idea about her.” 

“I’ll talk to Josie, get her on it.” Cassandra stared at him. “What happened? Something terrible occurred.”

“I got this information from her because the two of us were attacked by a boar.” He told her about Lavellan’s fast reaction time and her accuracy at hitting the boar’s soft spots, which probably was the main reason he was even standing there talking to her. 

“She’s good.”

“Yes. Well, no. Much better than good. If she doesn’t hit someone attacking you, it’s because she wants you to die.”

“High praise indeed from Cullen Rutherford,” Cassandra said. 

“If I had a thousand like her, this war between the mages and Templars would be over today. She works hard and she’s a very fast learner. And when she does talk to me, she’s broadened my vocabulary immensely. She has quite a delightful and wide-ranging variety of insults, although unlike most of the soldiers, she hasn’t dragged my mother into it.”

“And that’s everything?” Cassandra said, squinting at him.

What else did she want to hear? He knew what he should say: _Yes, that’s it. What else would there be?_ Except he knew that would be a lie and he should tell her about the very uncharacteristic thoughts about the Dalish elf. Thoughts about a woman he barely knew. A woman none of them knew. 

Cassandra squinted at him. “Here’s that question again, Cullen. You avoided answering me the first time. Which means you’re weighing carefully about what words to use as you try to formulate an answer you think I will like instead of what you should say. No hesitation this time, Commander. Is that everything I need to know about what happened?”

“Who’s asking?” 

“Your Seeker,” she said. “And your friend. But mostly the woman you’ve asked to keep an eye on you during this…time.” 

All he had to do was remove the one tiny impulse he had felt from what he told her. To be fair he hadn’t actually acted on it. Just an idle fancy that crossed his mind. It had been much too long since he had had any interest in a woman, that was all. When he had more time on his hands, he would work harder on fixing that. His fantasy had nothing to do with Lavellan. “I reacted extremely badly to the whole situation and I yelled at her. The only thing I should have said was ‘Thank you.’ And the only reason we lived was that she reacted so fast. It didn’t even occur to me why the buck ran, I didn’t hear the damned boar crashing through the forest behind us, I didn’t—” He slammed his hand on the stone fence. “By the time I did, she had already shot it several times. The first thing I did was use the moment to torment her about how she needs to kill people.”

“How bad was your reaction time?”

She was asking about the lyrium, of course. Most of her questions usually were.

“It’s been faster. And it’s been much better.”

Cassandra nodded. “And?” She raised her eyebrows, waiting. “And? How do you feel about taking it now?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to go back to using it, even after that.

She nodded. “Did you feel any relief at being alive?”

He wondered how Cassandra would react if he told her exactly how he had wanted to celebrate being alive and how for a few moments he was sure Lavellan felt the same way. It was one thing for a lovely Dalish elf to feel that way, and quite another for the Commander of the military. Cassandra would never let him speak to the Herald again—not that he probably should be allowed near her anyhow. “Yes. Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“Because the man I found in Kirkwall never felt any relief at all, ever, no matter what happened, no matter how many horrors he lived through,” she said to him quietly. “That man won’t survive what the Inquisition is going to ask of him. I am hoping this one might.”

Most days he couldn’t think of a blessed reason Cassandra had taken him from Kirkwall, a place that had left him a battered, broken mess, unwilling to continue as a Templar and unable to do much else. He nodded.

After a moment, Cassandra grinned and hit him on the vambrace again. “Well. Josie and Leliana will enjoy hearing you’ve been off frolicking in the woods with the Herald.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he told her, before bursting into laughter. “Seriously. Don’t need it from you, certainly don’t need it from those two. Not after this morning.”

“Come now, Commander, they’ll want all the details about this story.” Cassandra yanked the large door into the Chantry open again.

“What story is that?” Lavellan asked. 

Where she had suddenly appeared from, Cullen had no idea. He hadn’t even seen her walk up while they were standing outside. She wore the more familiar smirk on her face, the one that made her seem uninterested and unapproachable. This wasn’t the woman he worked with every morning—this woman he had absolutely no feelings about. He wasn’t in any danger of embarrassing himself trying to kiss her.

His intense, almost obscene fantasy about her must have been caused by the stress of the boar’s attack. He was back to normal now.

What had he said to Cassandra, and had Lavellan overheard any of it?

“Tomorrow we return to the Hinterlands,” Cassandra said. 

Lavellan looked at Cullen and then nodded at Cassandra. “Figured as much,” she said, and then she walked ahead of them down the long nave to get to the War Room.


	7. Succeeding in the Hinterlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third time's the charm for taking the Herald to the Hinterlands, and she gets to use all of those fabulous skills the Commander has been teaching her as she closes rifts, takes on warring mages and Templars, and spreads the good word of the Inquisition.
> 
> Ellana is just hoping that that bizarre impulse that overtook her in the woods the other day doesn't repeat itself. Varric just isn't her type, you know?

A pack of screaming, unhappy townspeople surrounded the Inquisition party. The farmers in Langston Township on the outskirts of the Hinterlands been plagued by a rift spewing demons on one side since the Breach opened up and warring mages and Templars on the other for two months.

Deep down, though, Ellana suspected everything made these people unhappy.

If she had to live in the middle of this rocky, snowy, cold hellscape, she would probably be a lot less nice too.

“You say you will bring us out of this savage nightmare?” the farmer screamed at them. His name was Hefgan, Ellana thought. What kind of name was that? Did Fereldans think these guttural names were easy to say? “We can’t leave our homes! Our children are starving! End this nightmare if you can! But don’t expect us to be grateful for this disaster you’ve brought on us!”

Every word he said was directed only to Cassandra. That was all these people did—they ignored the Dalish elf, the dwarf, and the apostate mage elf in favor of talking to the fearsome human woman with the tabard bearing the eye of the Order of the Seekers.

The Herald of Andraste meant nothing to them. 

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at her, clearly wanting her to jump into the conversation. Ellana had approximately seventy million things she would rather do, especially since a Dalish elf lecturing _shemlen_ on what to do rarely went well for anyone. Particularly the elves.

“If you would get out of our way,” Ellana said quietly.

Hefgan the farmer glared at her. “Shut your mouth, you knife-eared—”

Ellana stretched her arms out, the mark on her hand flaring. 

The townspeople surrounding them took a step back. They were no less angry and no less suspicious, but the thing on her hand made them afraid.

Well, good. At least the mark was useful for something.

She would have been lying if she didn’t say that making _shemlen_ afraid didn’t amuse the fuck out of her. That a single Dalish archer was the one making them afraid made it that much funnier.

“As I was saying. You need to get out of our way. We will go close that rift and kill the demons. The way we have to get there is to tramp across your fields, unless you want to be helpful and point out an easier path. You can stay in your homes if you want to or watch us, I don’t bloody care, but stand to one side while we work and don’t interfere. If you would rather be up to your arses in demons for the rest of your lives, please, carry on as you have been and we’ll go somewhere else that wants our help.”

The quickest way to get to the rift that had been plaguing this township was through this belligerent fool Hefgan’s winter wheat fields. If the rift had disrupted things to the point where the people were in fact not eating, she should probably try to avoid trampling their grain.

He had made it really tempting to flatten the whole damn thing, though.

The sound of a crying child somewhere off in one of the small homes made her reconsider that.

“Where’s the path?” she asked.

Hefgan glanced at her, but he was still focused on Cassandra as the leader of the group. He didn’t respond to Ellana.

“We have other rifts we must visit,” Cassandra said. “If you want this rift closed, answer the Herald’s question and be quick about it.”

He pointed. “It’s over there. The row is overgrown. We can’t tend it, you see.”

Ellana grunted—the more she made the noises in her throat, the more satisfying it felt and she understood why Cassandra did it as often as she did. “Thank you,” she said with as little sincerity as she could muster before taking the lead toward the field. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas followed behind. The farmers followed them, she noticed. They usually did, mostly so they could be the ones to report what a fraud the Dalish elf calling herself the Herald of Andraste really was.

 _Shemlen_. All the same.

She had one _shemlen_ to thank for changing a few things, though. The Commander’s attitude had rubbed off on her. Every place they stopped on this visit to the Hinterlands greeted her with calls of “knife ear” when she walked in and choruses of “the Herald” when she walked out without a trace of shame or irony. 

This tiny town would be no different.

Ah, the Commander. He was a Fereldan, wasn’t he? 

She did not want to think about him right now. Or the extreme reaction she had felt toward him just the other day, in the woods.

She had been seconds from throwing her arms around him and finding out whether he would be as forceful and meticulous in the way he kissed as he seemed to be about everything else. If he even would kiss her and not toss her to the ground. Where had that thought of kissing him come from, anyhow? She did not launch herself at men. 

And yet…she had wondered what his mouth would taste like.

A lot.

Thankfully, he had interrupted her thoughts by reminding her of exactly how much he didn’t like her—well, no, she thought. He had done her the kindness of reminding her exactly how much _she_ didn’t like _him_ before she did anything stupid. That the Commander didn’t like her simply made things easier on both of them.

Had he grown up in a town like this, filled with stupid people who hated strangers? Explained a lot about him, actually.

The rift glow was visible just over the hill. The demons didn’t stray too far from the green band stretching up to the Breach above, because they wanted to stay near the familiarity of the Fade. Everything within their self-imposed radius was their target: animal, vegetable, and from the looks of it, not a few minerals. Complete devastation.

A lesser terror demon crashed through the grain just ahead. She shook her head. Before that accursed Conclave she had never seen a demon, and now she was relieved the hideous, mangled thing in front of her was only a _lesser_ terror demon. 

She swung her bow around as a frost bolt from Solas hit the demon squarely in the face. Cassandra’s sword came down on the thing’s arm, and Ellana and Varric hit it simultaneously with arrows. It took three more arctic blasts from Solas’s staff and a few hits from Cassandra to finally kill it. Ellana pressed on ahead to see what they had in front of them. 

“More lesser terrors, a couple of wraiths, and…what are those things?” she asked.

“Shades,” Solas said. “The sad remains of spirits who cannot pass on.”

“Whatever.” Ellana strung another arrow. “Let’s do this.”

It took four waves of demons before she could close the rift—every time she put her hand into the rift, some demon took a swipe at her. A shade knocked her over. A lesser terror demon threw Cassandra clear across the blasted field. Varric stayed back, trying to provide her with cover, but even he had to keep running to keep ahead of the demons.

But finally she got her hand into the rift and felt the tug that meant it was closing.

The fire burned through her, every time telling her that her hand, her arm, her body was burning with an unholy pain that destroyed her flesh, over and over. The first time she had felt it, when Cassandra had dragged her up the mountain, she had thought closing the rift might kill her—she passed out for two days as a result. Every time she closed a rift, though, while the pain didn’t lessen, somehow she could deal with it better. She was recovering more easily after each one. The last rift she had closed, on the outskirts of the Hinterlands, she had felt nauseated and dizzy for only a couple of hours.

When the rift roared its last and the great green energy flowed downward in a harsh cascade into her hand, she flexed her fingers. Still there. Still working. Still with that horrible glowing crack in the center of it.

Closing the rift still made her want to throw up. But it wasn’t so bad this time. She felt about as sick as she did on a morning working with the Commander—before she gave up eating breakfast.

She looked up at the passel of farmers who stood nearby watching.

“Everything should be quiet now,” Ellana said.

The farmers took off their straw hats and clutched them in front of them, both in respect and as a modicum of protection. Probably thought she was going to blast them all to Andraste’s funeral pyre if they weren’t polite.

“When someone asks you who saved your arses, what are you going to tell them?” Ellana asked.

The men and women watching her mumbled. 

“The Inquisition, you idiots!” Cassandra yelled at them. “You tell them loudly that the Inquisition came in here and cleaned up your farms.”

The farmers nodded, twisting their hats in their hands.

“Any chance we could get a little something to eat for the road?” Varric asked.

~ O ~

Hefgan the now grateful farmer told them the nearest camps of warring rebel mages and Templars were over the ridge. “We haven’t gotten through to the Crossroads in months,” he said.

Stupid selfish bastards, Ellana thought. Perhaps if the Dalish stopped moving about and started defending their territory, they would behave the same way, more interested in keeping what they had than in everyone getting to eat. She preferred her clan’s values, though.

“Do you want to tackle this problem now?” she asked Cassandra.

“The more important question is how you feel,” the Seeker asked her.

“Closing the rifts no longer depletes your strength,” Solas said.

Ellana shook her head. “I don’t feel great, but I’m okay. I’ll be right as rain if we can reach the Crossroads.”

“The four of you aren’t going to be able to do a thing against them that’s fighting over there,” Hefgan said. He nodded at Ellana. “No disrespect, mum, but there’s at least fifty over there, and they enjoy the killing.”

“Is it all day every day?” Varric asked. “Or a little bit here and there, then another day somewhere else?”

“It’s pitched battles all day and night,” Hefgen said. “They take what food we do have and then the demons…” 

“Ten miles straight that way?” Cassandra asked.

Hefgen nodded. 

Varric bit into the sandwich one of the township’s grateful residents had made each of them. “I’m good to go, Seeker. How are you doing, Bright Eyes?”

The nausea had passed already, Ellana thought. “Let’s get this over with.” 

When they reached the top of the ridge, they saw the wreckage of the battle: mages had burned, frozen, and overgrown the entire area where the Templars were camped, and the Templars had destroyed everything they had managed to reach on the mage side. From the looks of it, it had gone on exactly like that for weeks. Months.

Someone had to die to make them stop killing one another. 

Ellana gripped her bow tighter.

Well, if this little experiment of her being the Herald of Andraste had to come to an end horribly and painfully, now was the time to find out. At least she hadn’t eaten her sandwich yet.

Varric wanted to rush right in there and start knocking heads, but Ellana waved him off. Instead, she scaled a large nearby oak on the hill that overlooked the warring factions and studied what was going on. After a while, it was easy to pick out who was in charge on each side, directing who should go where, who was answering all the questions. 

She stood on a branch of the tree and took aim at the leader of the Templars.

The side of his face looked much the same as anyone’s cheek. He could be an elf, right? She could kill an elf if she had to. True, this man was twice the size of any elf in her clan and his face was as hairy as the backside on a winter ram. But there was nothing special about how _shemlen_ were put together. She could do this.

The Commander’s voice repeated in her head: _I will be happy to set them straight for you. At sword point._

Time to get it over with, she thought. Let’s find out how good the Inquisition’s assurances really are.

By the time the arrow pierced the Templar’s left cheek, she had strung a second arrow.

The Templar pitched over with an arrow lodged in his brain as her second arrow entered the right temple of the leader of the mages.

Both men lay dead on the ground by the time their respective groups realized anything had happened. Dozens of heavily armed and powerful soldiers and mages turned toward her.

“First person to twitch their little finger joins these two,” Ellana said. “Any takers?”

“Who the fuck are you?” a Templar yelled.

“I am the Herald of Andraste.” 

The Templar who yelled erupted in a loud, derisive laugh. Which was cut short by the arrow neatly cleaving his throat. He fell backward across the legs of the first Templar she killed.

“Anyone else? Good. The rest of you, put your swords and staffs down.” When no one moved, she shot the staff out of one mage’s grip—which left the arrow in the back of the mage’s hand. “Don’t get clever. Do what I tell you. I’m in a very bad mood right now and this isn’t the only arrow aimed at your heads.”

One by one, every staff, sword, and shield hit the grass.

Ellana waved her bow to the side, indicating the combatants needed to move to the side. “In a moment, Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast is going to address you. Anyone not hanging on the brilliance of her every word joins your first three fellows.“

Another mage, without a staff, ran to the one Ellana had shot. “She needs healing!”

Ellana used her bow to indicate the mage should move away from the injured woman. “That will have to wait until after the rest of you decide you want to join the Inquisition and follow the Seeker, or you want to die, painfully and alone, right now. Personally, I would choose carefully.”

For the first time since the rebellion had broken out, mages and Templars in close quarters stopped trying to kill one another and listened to someone tell them exactly what their options were. Solas stood close to Cassandra, holding up a barrier to provide her with a measure of protection in case anyone decided to keep fighting.

Ellana moved to a rock outcropping that overlooked the warring factions. 

Varric scooted her over and leaned against the rock. “Those were some fancy moves, Bright Eyes.”

“It’s what the Herald is supposed to do. Or so Cassandra and the Commander keep telling me.”

“You’re shaking.”

She stared at the field below them, with two dead Templars, a dead mage, and a wounded mage keening in pain, as well as scores of exhausted and angry faction members getting yelled at by Cassandra.

“This is the first time I’ve ever killed a human,” she told him.

The dwarf whistled. “Is that so?” 

“In my life, I’ve killed several hundred rabbits, a couple of dozen small deer, maybe ten pigs, and one very large boar. I have never killed a human.”

“Are you going to be sick?”

“I might be. You may want to move a little that way, so nothing splashes on you.” She grinned, thinking of how she had decorated the Commander’s boots that one time.

Oh, the Commander, she thought.

On the field a mage began to walk backward, slowly, toward a staff half-hidden by the tall grasses.

Without calculating the ins and outs of the situation, Ellana let an arrow fly, pinning the mage’s robes to the ground. The young woman looked up at Ellana and Varric with such rage and revulsion that she wondered if she should kill the mage now, simply as an object lesson to the others.

Varric put his hand up and pushed Ellana’s bow down. “Let’s slow down there a little, Bright Eyes. You don’t have to kill everybody today. Spread the pleasure out over the next week, make the feeling last.” 

“What do we do with all of these people, Varric?” she said. “They’re not going to recognize the Inquisition as their authority.” 

“I don’t know about that, Bright Eyes. A lifetime of training goes an awful long way toward conditioning how people behave. Seeker has authority leaking out of her—a lot of authority.” 

“So, what? We march them back to Haven?” 

He shook his head. “We do whatever Cassandra says.”

Ellana nodded. “That works for me.” Then she took a deep breath and looked at Varric, who stared out over the devastated fields. His thick red hair was pulled back in several tails and the hard, angular features of his profile looked the same as it always did. He had an old scar on his forehead, she realized, and five earrings up the curve of the ear she could see.

The day she had killed the boar she had felt adrenaline surge inside her in a way she had never experienced before and she had wanted the Commander right there and then in a way she had never wanted a man before. Was that feeling going to repeat itself? And had it happened simply because the Commander was the closest person to her right at that moment?

Right now the nearest person was Varric, so she studied the writer and checked her feelings.

She liked Varric in the exact same ways as she had before she had killed a person. 

She did not, however, feel especially compelled to touch him in any way. His mouth did not look any more inviting than it ever had.

Varric turned to look at her, and one red eyebrow raised. “What are you looking at, Bright Eyes?” he asked.

“I was wondering if people looked different to me now that I’ve killed one,” she said. 

Which was more or less true.

Nope. She still liked him. She wasn’t in danger of wrapping her body around his, though, the way she had been in the woods, with the Commander.

Maybe the problem was Varric. So she looked at Solas.

Nope. Still the same bald hedge mage who had discussed _elvhen_ traditions as they took down the camp tents that morning. She wanted to talk to him, but she didn’t want to do anything else with him. 

It was unfortunate she was partial to _shemlen_ , she thought. Especially given how poorly she seemed to get along with them.

One of the Templars approached Cassandra—he was tall and muscular and had close-cropped brown hair and olive skin. He was really quite good-looking, if you could overlook the expression on his face.

After a furious argument, he walked back toward the other Templars.

Nope, she had no impulses to fling herself at him either.

Something bizarre had happened to her the other day in the woods. She would not let it happen again, ever.

“We may just make it to the Crossroads tonight, Bright Eyes, thanks to you,” Varric said.


	8. Things fall apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana gets back from a very successful trip to the Hinterlands and brings Mother Giselle and Blackwall with her. Her success leads to complications, however: it turns out Ellana hasn't been exactly truthful with the Inquisition, however, and this leads to a serious schism between her and the others.
> 
> The Commander, however, would like to know how things are going for her. Because he's concerned about her. It's just concern. He's a man extremely in touch with his emotions: it's just concern.

Lavellan’s party from the Hinterlands returned three weeks after they had originally left, with many more people in the party than had left on that day.

The last missive Cullen had received from the Crossroads was from Cassandra, a glowing account of how well the Herald was doing and he should feel very proud at the complete turnaround in her behavior he had effected.

He wasn’t at all sure he was pleased at that, although of course he was grateful Lavellan—no, he needed to call her _the Herald_ —had accomplished so many things during her mission. 

He met the party at the stables. The grooms took the horses from the Herald, Cassandra, Solas, and a Grey Warden, and ponies from Varric and a Revered Mother. 

“The Herald has brought us Mother Giselle from the Crossroads,” Cassandra said.

Cullen bowed to the Revered Mother.

“And this is Blackwall,” the Herald said.

The Grey Warden looked like he had lived in the hills away from civilization for a while, with his patched quilted jerkin and boots that had seen better decades. He was almost as tall as Cullen, with a head full of thick, wild black hair and an uneven, unkempt beard the Commander wouldn’t have tolerated from one his soldiers for as long as it took to shave it off. 

Blackwall stayed very close to Lavellan. She, clearly, was the main reason he had left the Hinterlands, despite him being twice her age.

Cullen took an immediate dislike to him. They had no need for a Grey Warden in Haven.

“Pleased to meet you,” Cullen said.

“And these are new recruits,” Cassandra said, nodding toward the dozen young men and women clustered nearby. “Can you pass them off to someone? I need to talk to you now.”

Cullen signaled to Knight-Captain Harrington to come over. Cassandra spoke to him quickly about the recruits. Harrington nodded and ordered them to follow him.

“Where may I find Sister Leliana?” Mother Giselle asked Cullen. 

“She may be in the Chantry or perhaps in her tent. I would be happy to show you,” he said. 

“Ach, Cullen, I have to go that way anyhow,” Cassandra said. She unhooked her bags from her horse. “Will you take the Revered Mother’s things for her, Varric?”

“I have my own bags, Seeker,” the dwarf said.

“You will make two trips,” she told him.

Cullen picked up one of Giselle’s bags. “Allow me.”

“Commander,” Lavellan said. 

He looked over at her for the first time. Her black hair was tucked back behind her ears, which twitched. How did elves do that? he wondered. She looked better than when she had left. Well, she certainly looked happier. Less put upon, perhaps. Her skin was pink, ruddy after the day’s long ride, and her lips were pressed together, as though she were trying not to smile. He assumed she would either make one of her cutting remarks or complain about something. 

That he could deal with. As long as he did not feel a desire to kiss her, almost any emotion from her was fine. He had been worried the entire time she was gone that somehow he had lost his mind. But no. Everything was as it should be, thank the Maker.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Those are my bags, Commander. Mother Giselle’s are over there.” She put her hand on the strap of the bag he held. “I can take it.” She pulled on the handle and her hand drew across his.

That felt…odd, he thought. His skin seemed oddly sensitive to her touch.

Her strength had certainly returned. That was a heavy bag. 

“The Mother’s in fine hands with Curly. C’mon, Hero, let’s find you somewhere to bunk,” Varric said.

 _Hero?_ Cullen thought.

The Grey Warden was blushing. Almost painfully.

 _Hero_ , Cullen thought. Another one of Varric’s nicknames. Cullen found them less endearing than others did. 

”There are quarters in town,” Cassandra said.

The Grey Warden shifted nervously. “Begging your pardon, but I’d much prefer being out of the noise of things.”

Lavellan reached for the strap of her second pack, which was by Cullen’s foot, and he didn’t quite move fast enough out of her way, so she ended up dragging her hand against his arm again. She didn’t seem to notice, but he felt it like she had dragged her nails up his skin. What was wrong with him today?

She didn’t notice. “Let’s talk to Master Harritt. He’ll know if there’s anywhere to sleep that’s near the smithy. I need to talk to him anyhow,” she said to Blackwall.

“Allow me.” Blackwall said, and he easily hefted it, the third bag he was carrying.

“Why, thank you.” She bestowed a large smile on him. “The smithy’s this way.” 

As he watched the two of them leave the stables, Cullen made a note to talk to Cassandra as soon as possible about what had gone on in the Hinterlands between the Herald and this strange, uncivilized man.

Varric, Cassandra, the Revered Mother, and Cullen headed through the town gates. 

“I am quite impressed with your Herald,” Mother Giselle said. “She did excellent work aiding us at the Crossroads.”

“What sort of aid?” Cullen asked.

“Even you would have been impressed with the way she kicked Templar ass,” Varric said. “And mage ass. Lots of ass kicking. Tell him, Seeker.”

“Her performance was indeed impressive,” Cassandra said, “even if I would not quite use those words. You had quite an effect on her, Commander.”

Cullen raised his eyebrows at Cassandra and she nodded. Well, good to know all that time spent with Lavellan had paid off. He supposed he felt pleased by that. One too many times over the past few weeks he had found himself strolling by the archery yard, wondering how she was getting on. If she had managed to accomplish the one thing he had been assigned to make her do.

Apparently she had. 

That was good. He liked accomplishing things. He certainly liked it better than dealing with his emotions, which were messy and difficult and caused problems.

Now that she could finish missions, they could send her out to more spots and deal with more of the issues facing the Inquisition.

Did she ever miss those mornings at the archery yard? Cullen wondered.

No. Of course she didn’t. Why would she?

“And she found us Blackwall,” Cassandra added. “She has collected quite the assortment of agents and friends.”

“Many at the Crossroads were somewhat skeptical of your Herald when she first showed up,” Mother Giselle said. 

“The words I heard most often were ‘fucking joke,’” Varric said.

“Varric!” Cassandra snapped.

“Those were indeed the words used, Commander,” the Revered Mother said, smiling. “But she was…inspirational in her actions.”

“If by inspirational, you mean she bitch-slapped them into submission,” Varric said. “I don’t know what you guys did to her, but allow me to be the first to say, Yes, _ser_ , can I have another.”

The dwarf didn’t sound randy, he sounded appreciative. Nevertheless, Cullen looked at Cassandra, wondering what he was getting at. “What precisely happened during your travels to the Hinterlands?”

Cassandra clucked her tongue. “Get ready for a lot of new recruits headed our way.” 

Varric grinned. “Lots of strapping young bucks very inspired to follow the Herald, if you get my meaning. They want to follow right behind her.”

Well. New recruits were always welcome, but he wasn’t sure he needed a bunch of randy young men sniffing after a beautiful woman.

And did he really just refer to Lavellan as a beautiful woman?

Maker, it had been a long day. What was wrong with him?

At the Chantry Cassandra told Mother Giselle where to find Leliana. After a brief blessing, the Revered Mother left them, disappearing into the church.

“She’ll stay at my house,” Cassandra said.

“Do you have rooms left in there?” Cullen asked.

Varric chuckled loudly. “Don’t worry about it, Curly. Seeker can bunk with me for a while. I’ll make plenty of space for her, unless, you know, she doesn’t want lots of room.” He winked.

The only noise as they crossed the road to the town square was Cassandra’s long, annoyed intake of breath. 

“So that’s a no?” the dwarf said. “Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind.” He crossed to the side road that led to the inn where he lived.

Cassandra cleared her throat with disgust. “That man.” She looked at Cullen. “I will sleep on the rug in front of the hearth. More comfortable than a feather bed anyhow.”

Cullen knew exactly what she meant. There were many nights he considered putting his bedroll on the hard ground instead of the canvas cot. “And you’ll be able to keep an eye on the Herald’s comings and goings.” 

“Ach. She won’t have time to escape. We won’t be in Haven long,” Cassandra said.

“Why not?” he asked.

“The Herald needs to go to Val Royeaux.”

What? That was impossible. The Herald—Lavellan—a Dalish elf—go to the capital of the Orlesian Empire? Dressed like that? With her…manners? Her impudent way of speaking? No. No, that was a nightmare in the making. The Inquisition would end before it had begun.

Cassandra didn’t notice his reaction and kept talking. “It’s why the Revered Mother needs to talk to Leliana. To make arrangements.”

He pulled open the door of her house. “Why does she need to go to Val Royeaux of all places?” 

“To talk to Lord Seeker Lucius about the Templars remaining in the Order possibly joining us,” Cassandra said. “They may be useful in sealing the Breach.”

Cullen had broken up more than enough arguments amongst the soldiers and townspeople about what had caused the Breach. Most blamed the presence of mages, who were running wild and unchecked since the destruction of the Conclave. So many mages in one place made him uneasy, although he had defended them without question.

“Good,” he said. “I hope Lucius sees reason. We need Templars here. And soon.”

Cassandra dumped her bags in the common room of the house she shared with Lavellan.

“How are you doing, Cullen?” she asked.

“It’s been quite busy since you left,” he said. “As Varric said, we do have a flood of new recruits coming in, and quite a few pilgrims as well. Word of what the Herald is—”

Cassandra walked right up to him. She might have been shorter but she always seemed to be looking down at him. Trait of a good Seeker, of course. 

“How are you doing?” she repeated, her dark eyes daring him to deflect the question again. “Truthfully.” 

He thought of the sleepless nights, the nightmares, the way his hands shook, the difficulty with focusing on anything except the _want_ that coursed through his entire being. How many times he had stared at the damned wooden box on his desk and thought, _End this torment now and just start taking the lyrium again, you idiot_.

“Much the same way as I have been for the past year,” he said.

“Are you certain?”

He nodded. “The moment anything changes for the worse—or, for the better, should that day ever dawn—I will let you know.” 

“You had better, Rutherford. I only have so much energy to devote to your every movement these days. I’m exhausted keeping track of what the Herald is up to.” 

Cullen assumed he had an armful of reports about the mission to the Hinterlands headed his way, but he knew there was an art to an official report—as much what was not said on paper as what was. 

“How is she? _Truthfully_ ,” he said.

Cassandra rolled her eyes and removed her gloves. “I told you. This past trip to the Hinterlands was a great deal more successful than the first two.”

“Those were clusterfucks from beginning to end,” he said.

Cassandra snorted. “We’ve taken to calling such a situation ‘all bears,’” she said, and they both began to laugh. Cullen had traveled through the middle of Ferelden often enough to know what the bear population could do to the best laid plans. “We actually made it all the way to the Crossroads this time, for example, and it’s definitely because of her. She’s learning to work with a team. Well, she’s trying to, at any rate. She thinks she has to do everything by herself. She’s genuinely surprised every time Solas freezes the wolf before she can get a bead on it or Varric shoots before she does.” She shook her head. “I wish I knew how Dalish elves work together on a hunt.”

“Maybe they don’t.” 

The Seeker shrugged. “She took charge of defeating the camps of rebel Templars and mages who have been plaguing the Crossroads, though. You should have seen her.” Cassandra whistled. “Quite a few of them pledged allegiance to her when she was done kicking their asses, as our friend the dwarf might say. Allegiance to her, not to the Inquisition. When she was done clearing the area, those at the Crossroads hoisted our banner as fast as they could.”

“Word of the Herald is getting out.”

Cassandra nodded. “Plus, she’s handling the rifts so much better. They’re not knocking her out the way they had been. She’s even able to do two in one day now. She says they still hurt as much though.” 

“Tell me everything that happened over a meal. I’m starving.” 

Cassandra nodded. “I don’t know what we’re going to do about those young men who are coming here, though.”

“Why’s that?”

She stopped in the doorway. “Most of them are halfway in love with her already. They start off by treating her…you know, like a Dalish girl—”

Of course he knew the reputation of Dalish elves. Everyone knew what they were supposedly like, with their communal living and lack of clothing. Dalish women reportedly had any number of lovers. 

Sounded much more like what young men were hopeful Dalish women were like, to be honest. And certainly Cullen had never seen any such behavior from the Herald, other than the general flirtatiousness of a young unmarried woman. He had spent three and a half weeks of half-days with her and never seen any sort of licentiousness from her. He had more trouble with several of the human women in Haven, to be honest.

Cassandra shook her head. “They start that way. It’s kind of funny, though. By the time she’s done with them, they want to marry her.” 

He nodded and cleared his throat. “And how does she act? Toward them, I mean?” he asked, as if it were an idle question.

Cassandra shrugged. “It would be safe to say she hasn’t been impressed by even one. Have I mentioned she’s intelligent? But you must know that.”

He chuckled. He could only imagine how Lavellan would take idiot boys doing an about-face in their attitude toward her.

He knew too well her attitude toward the idiot Commander who did nothing but yell at her all the time.

They walked to the tavern for a meal. They talked about what Cullen had seen with the training while Cassandra was gone and what the Herald’s team had learned during their journey.

Cassandra was in the middle of describing how Lavellan had delivered a raft of supplies to the grateful Crossroads when a messenger stopped by their table. 

“Sister Nightingale requests a meeting at the afternoon bells,” he said. 

Cassandra picked a piece of druffalo out of her teeth. “Perfect end to a perfect day,” she said. 

When Cullen and Cassandra walked up to the Chantry, Lavellan and Blackwall walked up from the other side. The two of them had their heads together, speaking quietly. Blackwall kept gazing at the Herald as she talked, and when she said something he found funny he tossed his head back and laughed uproariously.

Then he spotted Cullen and Cassandra and begged his leave.

Something about the man set Cullen’s teeth on edge, and he couldn’t quite put his finger on why. He thought back to what Cassandra had said about all the idiot boys. He itched to ask Cassandra if Blackwall was one of the idiots.

“Lavellan,” he said, greeting her. 

She gave Blackwall one more glance as he walked away, and then looked up at Cullen. “Afternoon, Commander.” 

As they walked down the center of the Chantry, he glanced at her hands. “You weren’t wearing those gloves before,” he said.

She held up her hands, which were now encased in fingerless gloves made out of a smooth, soft dark leather. “Oh yes. Before we left, I asked Master Harritt to craft these for me. I certainly could have used these during those mornings of practice. I can’t imagine why I didn’t think of them sooner.”

“They cover your mark.”

“Why, yes. Yes, they do, thank you very much for noticing. I want to see if I can tolerate wearing a cover on it.” She flipped her left hand over and he saw there were snaps at the top of her palm. “And I can open it easily, you know, if I need to close a rift or…light a passageway or something.” 

“Why would you need to cover your hand?” he asked.

She grinned. “Many people find the light distracting, Commander. And while I’ve been used to men not looking me in the eyes when they talk to me, it’s been strange to have them stare at my hands.” 

He looked into her green eyes. And then he looked down at her chest. 

Oh. Right.

She laughed. “Don’t worry, Commander. You always look me in the eyes. I’m not even sure you’ve noticed I’m a girl.”

Cassandra cuffed Ellana lightly on the back of her elbow. “Do not be mean to Cullen.”

“I’m not being mean. It’s the truth. It’s rather nice talking to him, even if he’s usually very angry at me.” She peeked up at him through her long eyelashes, smirking. Acting like the flirtatious Dalish elf he and Cassandra had just been discussing. “Well, and the other reason for the gloves is, the mark can be very bright. Particularly when the outside world is very dark. For instance, in a tent, at night. And if I wake Lady Cassandra one more time because my hand opens and the light shines in her eyes, she’ll pitch me out of the tent and force me to sleep with the bears.” 

Cassandra nodded. “She is correct. It is extremely annoying.”

“Please don’t make me sleep with the bears, Cassandra,” the Herald whined.

He watched Cassandra and the Herald walk into the meeting room, laughing. Was there something strange in the way he treated the Herald? he wondered. Because he didn’t fawn all over her for being a woman? She certainly seemed to think there was. 

She walked away from him, her legs moving under her tight hallaskin breeches, and he thought: _Oh. Right. That again._  

No, it was much better to focus on the Herald’s deep green eyes. 

Or…maybe not.

He needed to stop thinking about what any part of her looked like. Somehow he had managed to spend almost a month straight with her, for hours every morning, and never thought about what she looked like once.

Okay, maybe once. 

But he had shaken that off as soon as it happened.

He was rather disturbed it had had happened so many times since she returned from the Hinterlands.

Josephine, Leliana, and Mother Giselle were already in the meeting room. Leliana looked as impassive as ever as she stared at the Herald, but Josephine was furious. He didn’t even know Josephine could be furious—he had never seen her more than mildly flustered. Cullen wondered what could have possibly happened to their diplomat to make her lose her cool like this.

Leliana clasped her hands together. “We need to discuss the Herald’s upcoming trip to Val Royeaux. Mother Giselle and I have made some plans.” She turned to face the Herald. “But first we need to discuss a letter we received only this morning.” 

The letter in Josephine’s hand, no doubt. “It’s from your clan,” the Ambassador said. Her words were clipped.

The joy in the Herald’s face was instantaneous. Cullen had never seen such a genuine smile out of her. “What did they say?” 

“Well,” Josephine said, her teeth somewhat clenched, “they apologized for the lateness of their response, as they had trouble finding a scribe to write the letter for them. As their scribe currently lives with us, _in Haven_.” 

Their scribe.

Clan Lavellan had its own scribe.

And she was in Haven.

It took Cullen a second to realize what he was feeling was shock. 

He looked at Cassandra, whose face had turned stormy. The same sense of betrayal had to be flooding through her. They had written to the Herald’s clan to find out something about her. He had not honestly thought he might be surprised by what they might hear.

“You can read and write?” Cassandra yelled at her.

“Yes,” the Herald said.

“You can read and write Common?” Cassandra yelled.

“Yes.” If anything, the Herald’s voice got quieter.

Josephine’s hand shook as she lifted the paper. “The Common, Dalish _elvhen_ , City _elvhen_ , Northern Antivan script, Standard Tevene, Poetic Tevene, Middle Period Tevene, Standard Dwarven, and High Orlesian.” She dropped the letter. “ _Et cetera, et cetera_.” 

“What others are there besides that?” Cullen asked. 

“I don’t read and write all of those!” Josephine said.

The Herald said nothing.

“You lied to us!” Cassandra screamed at her.

“No,” the Herald responded. 

“You told us—”

“No, I did not lie to you,” the Herald said, her voice low and very firm. “You simply assumed I couldn’t read and write. You assumed the Dalish elf was too stupid to know how to read and write and I went along with it. You think I’m going to volunteer how very, very wrong you were? And then have to explain myself? I’d like to remind you we started off with me in chains and you threatening to lop my head off for murder.” She pressed her hands together. “ _Ir abelas_ , my lord, it slipped my mind to bring the topic back up for discussion later on so I could tell you you were wrong. Surprisingly enough, it doesn’t go well for the Dalish when we tell humans they’re wrong.”

All this time. How many months had it been since the Conclave and she had kept something like this from them?

“Anything else important you’ve neglected to share with us?” Cullen asked. He was angrier at her than he realized. No, he was angrier at himself—his impulse to contact her clan was the right one, even though he was not liking what they were learning.

“You have read all of the reports I’ve sent back,” Cassandra said.

She shrugged. “I’ve read all the reports everyone has written.” She glanced over at Cullen and then Leliana. 

“Why would you do that?” Leliana asked.

“Why?” the Herald screamed. “To find out ahead of time if you were planning on executing me if I didn’t do what you wanted. I didn’t kill someone on our first mission out of Haven and as a result I got to spend every morning for a month with the Commander working me to death.”

He had known she had hated it. It shouldn’t come as a surprise she had hated it. But he did. Especially given how many times he had found himself wandering by the archery fields, early in the morning, missing working with her. Of course she hadn’t felt similarly.

“What happens the next time you’re unhappy with me for something I did or didn’t do? Do I ever get to do anything again that isn’t something you order me to do? What happens when I want to go home, to my clan? Am I ever going to be allowed to see them again, or am I here for the rest of this war? The rest of what might remain of my life?”

No one responded.

Leliana stared at the Herald, the only change in her expression one raised eyebrow. Josephine’s anger had fallen into surprise and shock. Cassandra looked homicidal. 

The Herald shrugged. “At the very least perhaps your reports would allow me to get a head start before you drag me back to the jail.”

Leliana said, “Herald, we understand you’ve had a very difficult time adjusting to our ways here, but this is—”

“Do you think you haven’t made it clear in ten thousand different ways you wish I were a human?” she screamed at them. “Do you think you haven’t made it clear you wish I were anything other than an archer?” She pointed at Cullen. “He _hates_ mages and he wishes I were a mage.”

Where the hell had she gotten that idea from? “That’s not true, Lavellan,” he said.

The Herald glared at him. “Your exact words one day were, ‘A mage could hit the broad side of a barn from this distance. At least they have useful talents.’ I can see you don’t remember saying that. I most certainly recall every syllable.” 

He had no memory of saying that, but it did sound like him, more than he wanted to admit. But if he did say that to her, he wouldn’t have thought she would take something like that seriously—

The Herald slammed her right hand down on the table, and four of Leliana’s carefully placed flags toppled over. “This is all I ever get from any of you! What am I doing, why am I doing it, go here, go there, do what you tell me. Have I said no to any of it? I have tried to do everything you have asked. I have _killed people_ because you told me to. All right, guilty. I didn’t volunteer to write your stupid fucking reports. Well then.”

Cassandra’s jaw worked back and forth. “Herald, I am sorry but—”

“We can talk about Val Royeaux in the morning,” the Herald said, tears flowing down her face. “But I cannot talk to you, any of you, right now. You finally get a letter from my clan and all I get to hear of it is more screaming at me.” She shook her head, taking gulping breaths. “I’ve had a very long day and I can’t take it any more. I need to be out in the fresh air.” 

She turned and yanked the door open. It moved so fast it nearly bashed Cassandra in the face. 

Cullen followed her out of the meeting room.

She was halfway down the nave and he had to run to catch up with her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her around. “Herald,” he said.

She glared at him. Those green eyes were quite different when she was angry. “And now I’m the Herald again. Of course. Are you taking me to jail, Commander?”

“What? No.”

“Then get your hands off me, right now,” she said. 

After a moment, he dropped his grip. She turned and headed for the Chantry doors again.

He had to jog to keep up with her. He had watched her run for a month of mornings and still never realized how quickly she could move. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I have been on a horse all day, an activity I still do not enjoy. And I am upset. I am going for a run to work out some of this energy. Now, if you would like to stop me from doing that, take me to a jail cell and lock me inside of it. I know you know how to do that.” She waited for a second. “Otherwise, get out of my way.” 

“Where are you running to?” he asked.

She cackled. “Nowhere, Commander. I simply need to breathe fresh air. Your embrium incense clogs my lungs and my thoughts.” 

“It’s late afternoon,” he said. Why was he was arguing with her about what she wanted to do? What she needed to do was come back to the meeting room now—

The Herald took a long, slow breath in and then looked up at him, green eyes narrowing at him. “Commander, how long would it take you and your men to find me if I did run away? Pretend I’m a mage. You’re good at finding those, aren’t you? Every Templar I’ve ever known has been. Let’s also imagine I have an hour head’s start and you have no idea what direction I went in before you and your men get on your horses and start chasing me. How long would it take?”

He didn’t answer. He knew he didn’t need to.

“Exactly. If there’s one thing a Templar on horseback knows how to do, it’s hunt down a mage. Or a Dalish elf. We got that often enough in the north. I expect it’s the same here as it is anywhere.”

There was definite malice in those green eyes. Her feelings went well beyond dislike—she might not like any of them, but she hated him. Despite the many weeks she had spent working with everyone here in Haven.

_Even if he’s usually very angry at me._

He usually was, wasn’t he.

“Herald, I have no intention—”

She laughed. Because he’d called her the Herald again. Maker, when was he going to learn. “I will run and clear my head, and I will be back by moonrise.” She pushed past him and walked out of the Chantry. 

Cassandra caught up with him just as the massive door slammed shut. “What are you doing? Where is she going?”

“She’ll take a walk and calm down and then she’ll come back,” Cullen said. 

“Well, come on—”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t trust us, Cassandra, just as we haven’t trusted her. I worked with her for four weeks and she hates me. You just spent two—three weeks with her in the Hinterlands and she doesn’t feel much better about you. Leave her alone.”

“We do that, and what if she runs away?”

He felt himself smile, almost against his will. “How far can a Dalish elf get in the Frostback Mountains, Cassandra?” He waited for her response. “As she said, _exactly_. Besides which, as she has so aptly pointed out, one thing I am very good at is finding people .”

“And then what?” Cassandra demanded.

“Then I suppose we will throw her in jail, like she expects us to do. She hasn’t learned to work in a team because she doesn’t trust any of us. If we follow her right now, she will _never_ trust us. And I suspect the Inquisition lives or dies on whether she learns to do exactly that.”

Cassandra grimaced, clearly wanting to argue with him. After a few seconds, she looked at him. “Tch, Cullen, when did you become the reasonable one?” 

About the time he realized the Herald was absolutely right and he not only could but would hunt her down like an animal if he needed to, he thought. “Come on. You’ve had a long day. I’ve had a long day and I haven’t even traveled. Why don’t you rest up for an hour and then come tell me more about what happened in the Hinterlands this week?”

Much as he suspected, Cassandra went into her house and didn’t come out again. Probably asleep as soon as she removed her boots, he thought. Cullen went back to his tent and lit candles to check over the reports his lieutenants had sent him. 

He kept the tent flap closed. He did not want to check on how high the moon had risen over the horizon before he absolutely needed to. 

After reading a lot of schedules and writing letters requesting new supplies, Cullen left his tent to ask Knight-Captain Rylen for the guard station assignments for the coming week. Rylen was passing by, on his way to the mess for dinner. He asked if Cullen wanted to get something to eat before the cooks took the end of the meal away.

Cullen looked toward the pair of mountains known as the Twin Knights, who stood guard over the Valley of Blood.

The moon had risen. 

_Fuck._

“No,” he said. “I may need to find you soon, though. You’ll be there?” 

Rylen nodded.

“Eat quickly.” 

Rylen took off for the mess tent and Cullen lifted the flap to return to his own. Dammit, he did not want to do this. He had to put together a team to come with him, he had to rouse the stablehands to get their horses ready, he had to—

The Herald was standing by his desk. Not leafing through his papers, not checking anything. Just leaning on it, looking for all the world like she had been standing there for hours. 

Much like she greeted him every morning on the archery field, in fact.

“You should tell Knight-Captain Rylen to eat slower,” she said. Then she wrinkled her nose. “Although, maybe with the quality of the food in the soldiers’ mess, speed is of the essence.”

“How did you get in here?” he asked.

She grinned. “The flap was untied, and you were standing just outside, so I figured it was all right to come in.”

“But how did you—” He hadn’t even felt a puff of air from the flap moving behind him. 

“Dalish elf, remember?” she said, her eyes wide. “You are aware I’m a Dalish elf, right? Not sure you’ve noticed anything about to me, to be honest. Anyhow. I stopped by to tell you I’m back and you don’t need to come chase me. Unless you really want to.” She batted her eyelashes at him and put her hand on her hip. He thought again about that moment in the forest and how he might want to respond if she were serious about wanting his attentions. 

Then he remembered the loathing in her eyes when they stood in the Chantry. And that she was the Herald, not just any girl. And he didn’t respond to anyone’s flirtations, ever.

She dropped the exaggerated coquettishness and looked like herself again, tired and upset and not amorous in the slightest. “Also, I’m here to tell you there’s a logging stand about three miles directly that way.” 

She pointed to the west. At the mountain that rose behind Haven. 

“There is?” he said. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Yes. Although of course you can’t go straight to it. It’s been abandoned for some time now, but it seems usable. I would draw a map, but I decided it was better not to disturb any of these fascinating papers you’re working on. None of which I’ve looked at or _read_ , by the way.”

He picked up the quill he had been writing with and wiped it off with the cloth. “You can look at them. They’re not in the slightest bit fascinating, however.” He picked up one paper he had scribbled on a few times and turned it over in front of her.

She took the pen and dipped it in his inkwell. “The Inquisition’s Commander wastes his time on uninteresting things? Another of my precious illusions crushed.” She began to scratch out a map. 

What was that supposed to mean, “uninteresting things”? All of those mornings they spent together on the archery fields and they had never talked very much, mostly because he rarely gave her the opportunity to speak at all. After that day in the woods, he had decided that when she returned to Haven, he would keep his distance from her—and here she was, in his tent, and he had no idea how to talk to her. If the Herald did begin to make a difference for the Inquisition, he suspected he was going to regret not learning as much as he could in the time he spent with her.

After a minute of trying to add details, she lay the pen down on the cloth. “Should be enough to give you the idea. There’s the old road here, goes up behind the lake. If you get to the cliffs that look out to the north, you’ve gone too far. Turn and go up the hill. After a mile or so you come across another path. Faint, but still there. Go east at least a mile and you’ll find it. Looks right over the town, in fact.” 

He studied her drawing, which was crude but gave the same idea. He thought about where she must have been, and it was not an area that lent itself to escaping from Haven. Not an area that lent itself to walking in general. “What were you doing up there?” he asked.

She looked at him. In the dim candlelight of his tent, her pupils were large. “Running. I was very angry and when I’m angry I have a lot of energy to spare.”

He let her words sit for a moment. What was he going to tell her, she had no reason to be angry? A few minutes ago he had been prepared to strap on his sword and hunt her down.

“But now I’m completely exhausted. We left the Crossroads before dawn yesterday and only stopped to camp last night.”

She looked exhausted, he thought. Everyone here did, but he had come to believe she had limitless energy reserves. “How did the Hinterlands go for you?” he asked.

She took a step back and blinked at him. “What a strange question from you, Commander.”

“I rather have a vested interest in knowing how things played out. I know what Cassandra thinks, not what you have to say. This was your first time out of Haven since… Well. Since the last time you left. It had to be a very difficult expedition.”

“Oh.” She grinned. “You want to know if your lessons took.”

“We did spend a lot of time on them.”

She nodded. “Yes. Everything went fine. And by fine, I mean I killed a number of people. Quickly. I aimed for the spots that meant they died instantly or as close to instantly as I could arrange.” 

When she didn’t continue, he said, “And?”

She looked at him.

“I assume you acted out of necessity. You didn’t want to kill people, but you did.”

“Yes,” she said.

“Any surprises in that? For you, I mean?” he asked, his voice mild.

She gave him a sad smile and then nodded. “You didn’t warn me about how it gets easier, every time. Every time I killed a person, it hurt just a little bit less than the time before.”

No, he hadn’t told her about that. He deliberately hadn’t told her about that. “It’s a very difficult thing to explain to someone who has not experience with it. If I had told you that you might feel that way, you would have thought I was…”

She laughed. “Demented? Blood-thirsty?”

“Or worse. Did you find yourself enjoying it? Did killing become pleasurable?”

“No. That it never did.”

“The ones who enjoy killing are the ones we have to keep an eye out for, Herald,” he said.

“Lavellan,” she said. “I like it better when you call me Lavellan.” 

He held up the drawing and then laid it on his desk. “Thank you…Lavellan. This is something we need.”

“Always happy to help,” she said, with overly mock sincerity. “May I ask something of you?”

He thought of a thousand things she could ask of him, and with a wince he had a quick memory of something he had wanted from her, very badly, at a weak moment. “What is it?” he said, his voice much softer than he meant for it to be.

“I didn’t touch anything on your desk,” she said. “But there’s something there I wanted to ask you about.”

“Yes?”

She pointed to the base of the lantern he kept on his desk for when he worked late at night. Around the base was a gold chain.

He had forgotten it was there, to be honest.

“Is that mine?” she said. “I know I wore a chain like that, before…but I thought perhaps I lost it in the Conclave explosion. That looks like it, although…I can’t quite remember.”

He remembered. He remembered taking it off of her, of wanting to question her about why she was wearing it. In all the confusion after the explosion, he had forgotten.

“Yes, I believe it is,” he said. “We took it off you when the healers were tending to your wounds. Lady Cassandra asked me to hold it for you and I simply forgot to return it. I apologize.” 

She didn’t move to touch it. She didn’t touch anything in his tent. “May I have it back?”

“You may. Do you remember anything about it?”

She shook her head. “I know it’s from home. I would like to have something from home.Was there something on it?” she asked, and then she winced, as though something hurt her. “I remember…there was a pendant…or something hanging on it.” 

He shook his head and avoided looking at her as he deftly unhooked the chain from the lantern. He had always found it easier to lie through a gesture than through his words. “Here you go.” He dropped the chain into her hand. “Would you like me to put it on you?”

“It would probably just get tangled in my clothing or catch on something during a fight.”

He nodded. “I would recommend against wearing it, but I’m not you.” 

She slipped the chain into her pocket. “It will be nice to have something from home with me.”

He thought about the argument that had precipitated her walkout in the War Room. “You miss your home.”

She nodded and then smiled at him. “Of course I do. Don’t you ever think about returning to your home?”

What an interesting question, he thought. Was there a place he longed to return to? That he thought of as “home”? His sisters and brother were now in South Reach, a place he had never been to in his life, let alone lived in. He had grown up in Honnleath but to be honest he barely remembered it. He lived on Lake Calenhad for three years and in Kirkwall for six. His home was wherever he had a cot, a stand for his armor, and the coin from his brother Bran. Which he kept in his pocket. Exactly like the woman in front of him was doing with her chain, in fact.

“I am home, Lavellan. This is my home.” 

“Ah. That’s true. You’re from Ferelden, aren’t you. You undoubtedly sleep better here than I do, Commander. And on that note, I bid you good night.” 

She disappeared out the tent flap as quietly as she had gone in.

He chuckled. The very idea of ever sleeping well again… Well, the sentiment was kind, at least. No reason she should know that particular truth about him, though.

He opened the box on his desk that contained two things: one, a small vial full of blue liquid, and the other, a signet ring belonging to Ser Bertran Kingsman. A Templar Cullen had studied under, a mentor, someone Cullen had looked up to as a model for how to live life as a knight, a husband, and a father. And now grandfather, if he remembered correctly.

Why had the Herald had his signet ring on her?

He clutched the ring in his fist for a moment and looked back toward the tent flap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, there is a plot thread about the signet ring. Might take a few chapters, though. :)
> 
> I am not sure how well subtlety works here, at least in terms of the Commander's emotions. He's quite good at sublimating. You might say he's spent his entire adult life doing it.


	9. Etiquette lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After the blowup in the War Room, the Council of Advisors decided the Herald’s visit to Val Royeaux should wait for a little bit._
> 
> _Two days later, Val Royeaux came to the Inquisition._
> 
>  
> 
> \----------------------
> 
> The Marquis DuRellion comes to Haven to evict the Inquisition--and instead meets their Herald. 
> 
> Leliana decides Ellana needs a lesson in the subtle fencing art of Orlesian etiquette, which thrills the party planner in Josephine.
> 
> Chaos and a dinner party ensue. 
> 
> Ellana is going to be out of her depth when it comes to dealing with Orlais.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much (though, clearly not all) of the dialogue in the scene with DuRellion is from the game. 
> 
> The dinner party scene, though: that's all me.

After the blowup in the War Room, the Council of Advisors decided the Herald’s visit to Val Royeaux should wait for a little bit.

Two days later, Val Royeaux came to the Inquisition.

A black and gold carriage stood outside of the Chantry, the four matching gray horses in harness lightly stamping their hooves against the road under the hand of the carriage driver, who sat on the front bench in full livery.

When Ellana pulled open the door of the Chantry, she heard loud yelling echoing down the nave.

Ellana was used to shouting coming from the Commander or his soldiers. She was even used to it from Cassandra.

She was not used to hearing it in the Chantry.

And definitely not from Josephine’s office.

Josephine faced a short bald man in a luxurious coat with a distinctive checkmark design. He wore a yellow mask over his face—a mask that included a curled, blond mustache in the design—and all Ellana could see were his watery blue eyes and his thick lower lip. The mask actually hid whether or not he actually had a mustache. The man glanced at Ellana but continued talking to Josephine in his heavy Orlesian accent.

“House DuRellion lent Justinia these lands for a pilgrimage. Your Inquisition is not a beneficiary of this arrangement.”

“The Inquisition was founded on Justinia’s orders,” Josephine said. 

Leliana walked into Josephine’s office to stand beside Ellana.

He looked at Leliana and pursed his lips. “Your writ was signed by the Divine Beatrix, not Justinia. For all I know, one of Justinia’s Hands found the writ and pressed forward on her own initiative.” He glanced at Ellana again. “Get out. We’ll call for a servant if we need one.”

Josephine looked at Ellana, eyes wide, hands clasped together. “Marquis, Haven is where the faithful flock to each day.” She walked to Ellana’s side, a nervous smile on her lips. “This is the woman they come here for, the Herald of Andraste. Herald, this is the Marquis DuRellion, the lord of the lands Haven sits on. Your Lordship, this is Ellana, known as the Herald of Andraste.”

“So it’s true. This so-called Herald is a Dalish elf,” the Marquis sneered. “Poor Andraste. Can’t find good help at all these days.”

 _Shemlen_ : bad. Orlesians: the worst of them. Ellana bowed her head. “ _Andaran atish’an_. I had no idea Haven had an owner outside the Chantry.”

“My wife, Lady Machen of Denerim, has claim to the town and lands of Haven by ancient treaty with the monarchs of Ferelden. We were honored to lend its use to Divine Justinia. She is… she was a woman of supreme merit. But this mockery you call an Inquisition has no merit at all. And your so-called Herald? Pffft. I will not let an upstart order remain on her holy grounds.” 

“You doubt that I am here for a special reason,” Ellana said.

Leliana brushed her hand against Ellana’s leg. A warning? Perhaps.

“No. Elves don’t have special destinies,” the Marquis said. “Dalish elves, definitely not. This fable your Inquisition is peddling is by itself reason enough for all of you to leave.”

“Would you be interested to learn that my fortune is not only special but is intricately bound up with yours, Marquis?”

The Marquis’s eyes seemed to squint behind his mask. “If this Dalish elf can tell me something and surprise me, I will rethink my decision about Haven.” From the twitch of his lips visible below the edge of the mask, it was clear he was deeply amused. No. Disdainful.

“Orlesians are very proud of their clothing, if I’m not mistaken. They pride themselves on unusual fabrics and designs. The clothes you wear are very fine, and they must be made especially for you by only the finest of creators. Take your outfit now, for instance. The lines of yellow and brown forming the checkmark on your coat were chosen specifically by you, as they closely represent the colors of your heraldic shield.”

The Marquis’s eyes narrowed again. “You have done some research on my family. Congratulations—”

“The linen weave was done by a man named Maweh and the embroidery stitching by his wife Callia. Your coat hides the front of your shirt, but the buttons will be carved silver with rubies inset. The buttons were designed by Callia’s second husband, Perron. These clothes are part of a larger wardrobe, also made by Callia and her husbands, that took the better part of a year and every ounce of their abilities to create. You paid dearly for the privilege, the honor, and their silence. The agreement was they not tell anyone that Dalish elves had made clothes for an Orlesian noble. The price was so dear, in fact, that part of your payment was the hire of a ship from Wycome to Lake Calenhad and then transport from Lake Calenhad to Branch Mill. The buyer was quite specific we needed to camp in Branch Mill and not in Haven. I know this, because Callia is also my aunt.” 

The Marquis stopped grinning. He didn’t like the ending to that story, but he was intrigued by it. Good.

If there was one thing Ellana knew how to do, it was flatter a _shem_ ego. Particularly a male _shemlen’s_ ego. The best advice her grandmother had ever given her was: Whenever you are in trouble with a _shemlen_ , flatter him and emphasize his importance. The advice worked when humans chased her clan for sport and when she negotiated with them in a marketplace. It would work here, too. The Marquis would take on the Inquisition as his own little project and champion them to others. 

Ellana pressed on. “I have none of her extraordinary sewing talent, I’m afraid. Your magnificent wardrobe funded my clan’s trip to the Conclave, and you are here now, questioning the Inquisition and me. Everything, at some level, is related. But as it turns out, you are the reason I am here, Your Lordship. You, at some level, are the true founder of the Inquisition. You are the reason I am the Herald of Andraste.”

The Marquis stared at her, his eyes nearly unreadable through the holes in his mask. Then he bent over Ellana’s hand and made the traditional Orlesian kiss over it, his lips barely grazing her skin. “The Empress will be quite curious to learn about you, my dear.”

“What will you tell her?” Leliana asked, her voice musical.

“Your Herald is very special indeed,” he said. “I will decide what to do. For now you may stay.” 

Ellana, Josephine, and Leliana watched the Marquis storm through the Chantry toward his carriage. 

Only after the Chantry doors slammed shut and the noise echoed through the nave did Ellana turn to the others. “Does the Marquis really own Haven?” she asked.

Josephine shook her head. “Possibly. A link through marriage is…dubious. Because the DuRellions are Orlesian and Haven is in Ferelden, the Empress Celene must negotiate with Ferelden to bolster his claim.”

“Right now, with the civil war raging in Orlais, Celene has bigger issues to deal with,” Leliana said.

Ellana wondered what this Empress of all Orlais was like. Orlais on that map in the War Room was gigantic—Ellana couldn’t fathom controlling that much land, that many _people_ , let alone feeling born to control that much of the world. Right now the only thing stopping Orlais for attacking the weak kingdom of Ferelden to their east was the civil war that raged between the Empress Celene and her cousin, the Grand Duke Gaspard. The civil war affecting tens of thousands was a saving grace for the Inquisition.

How could family turn against family? Ellana wondered. Family is all you ever have.

Ellana shook her head. “I have a hard enough time with the idea that a man who lives in a far-off, unrelated place can own this town. Can own any town, for that matter. And I may have made it more attractive to His Arrogance to take questions about the Inquisition to Celene. So my apologies for that. What does she think of the Inquisition, anyhow?”

Josephine and Leliana remained silent for a moment. Then Josephine said, “At the moment Celene is, as Sister Nightingale has said, preoccupied with other matters.”

“So…the Empress doesn’t think about the Inquisition at all.”

“Exactly. But the Marquis DuRellion will tell others his thoughts on us. And our Herald.” Josephine clasped Ellana’s right hand between her own. “I cannot be sure, but I believe you impressed him.”

Leliana laughed. “Impressed him? She both flattered and threatened him with her discussion of his clothing. He doesn’t want anyone to know who makes his clothes, so that he will remain the only one who has such a wardrobe. Did you see his shoes?”

After a moment, Ellana said, “Also made by my clan, if you must know.”

“They’re very good. I would like to know more about them.”

Ellana smiled. “Yes. We are. Well, they are.” Then she felt the smile fade. “I’m going to need more training in how to play this Game of yours, aren’t I?”

“You do,” Leliana said. “But you definitely have a strong foundation from which to grow.”

Josephine nodded. “It can only be to the good for you to learn. Both for you. And for us.” 

“Your politics are ridiculous,” Ellana said. “I am so glad the Inquisition has you to deal with this, Josephine. I’d just make a hash of everything.”

Leliana smiled. “It was good to hear your memory is improving, Herald.”

“What?”

“Your family. Your memories of your Aunt and Uncles. You didn’t seem to have any trouble remembering them.”

Ellana stared at her. That was true, wasn’t it—she hadn’t even hesitated when it came to discussing her family. In fact, if she thought about it some more, she could easily…

The headache that crashed through her head made her vision go white.

“Herald?” Leliana said.

“I _tried_ to remember something of my home,” Ellana said. “That was a mistake. Warn me not to do that.” 

Leliana put her hand on Ellana’s arm. “What happens when you try to remember?” 

“Leliana, it _hurts_ —”

“Shhhh. Don’t try to remember something. Just tell me what it feels like when you do.”

“Like…like something’s blocking it. Or…or something has ripped parts of my memory out.”

“It will come back,” Leliana said, her voice calm and soothing. “It’s gone for a reason, but it will come back.”

It was funny how sure the spymaster could sound about things she wasn’t suffering through. “I hope so.”

Josephine clasped Ellana’s right hand between both of her own. “Well…until the moment it does… What did you need to speak with me about?”

Ellana shook her head. “I didn’t. I left my gloves in the War Room this morning and came back for them. I only came in here because I heard shouting.”

Leliana and Josephine looked at one another.

“Fortuitous indeed,” Leliana said. “Today reinforces the idea we need to prepare you better for your trip to the imperial capital, Herald.”

The look of joy on Josephine’s face was remarkable. “Really?” she squeaked.

“Really,” Leliana said.

Ellana looked at Leliana and Josephine’s beaming faces and began to feel nervous.

~ O ~

The hard driving, icy rain outside sounded like daggers hitting the stone walkway that fronted the houses on the town square. The deluge came down so intensely that it was hard to make out any details on the facade of the Chantry across the square. 

Being inside the house should have sounded more than marginally better than being outside, but right now Ellana doubted that was true.

She sat at the end of a long oval table that had been set up in the living room of the house she shared with Cassandra and Mother Giselle. Cassandra’s bedroll had been rolled up in the corner. The fireplace roared with a stack of thick, dry logs. It should have felt warm and cozy and amusing.

Ellana was terrified.

“We don’t need to do this,” she said.

Josephine put her hand over Ellana’s. “Don’t worry. This is going to be fun.”

The table had been set with six place settings in the Orlesian style, with what appeared to be eighteen times too many plates and glasses and forks for each chair. Ellana was afraid to move, for fear that she might accidentally bump the wrong glass or plate and create a cascade of flying, sharp shards.

“I’m not going to Val Royeaux to have tea,” Ellana said.

“You will, child,” Mother Giselle said. “Eventually, dealing with Orlesians means supping with them and obeying their etiquette. One wrong move and you will never recover.” 

On Ellana’s right, the side of the table closer to the fireplace, sat Leliana and Cassandra. On her left sat Josephine and Mother Giselle. A large chair matching Ellana’s sat at the far end, empty. In the small amount of table top available between Ellana and Leliana was a small hand bell.

The room was warm—hot, even, although Ellana suspected that had more to do with how uncomfortable she was with this whole project than the fire.

“What are we waiting for?” she asked. “Is the waiting part of the torture of the Game?”

Leliana laughed. “A few more minutes, and then we will start. Part of a typical Orlesian dinner is what you say to one another before, during, and after.”

Ellana clapped her hands. “Okay, then… I’m hungry. Let’s eat.”

Everyone at the table laughed. 

“No, no, no,” Josephine said. “Like this. My dear, how lovely to finally meet you. May we sit together at supper?” 

Ellana looked around the room. “I would answer with a yes or no.”

Everyone at the table shook their heads.

“All yes or no questions are anything but,” Leliana said.

Josephine inclined her head. “You would respond, ‘Let’s plan to have adjoining places.’ Never ‘I would like that.’”

“Never mention yourself directly,” Mother Giselle said. “Referring to yourself as ‘I’ is considered rude.”

“Please tell me you are joking.”

Cassandra shook her head. “No one is going to tell you this is easy. It’s not. But it is deadly serious.”

Josephine leaned toward her. “Also, always answer a question with another question. In fact…responding to any line of conversation with another question is safest.”

Mother Giselle said, “This is why you must be prepared. You must not answer it wrong. We need the help of the powerful people in Orlais.”

“These people sound dangerous and evil as well as overdressed,” Ellana said.

Leliana nodded. “Half of the Game is getting the upper hand, using words as swords.”

“If I have to eat with them, do I get a food taster?” 

Mother Giselle shook her head. “Don’t worry about poisons. But, and this is very important, you must never eat your fill at one of these gatherings, my dear. It indicates gluttony. You eat a meal before you attend. Sample what’s on offer, but leave most of the food on your plate.”

Ellana looked around at the other women. They didn’t seem to be surprised by what the Revered Mother said, which flabbergasted the Void out of her. These people deliberately wasted food? She thought to the _shem_ towns they had traveled through where the farmers and laborers were practically starving. “But today, we eat, right? Those poor girls are in there cooking for us. I’m eating the food they bring out here.”

Josephine nodded and was about to add something else when the door to the house blew open with such force it banged against the wall. Everyone at the dinner table startled and Josephine yelped. 

The Commander stood in the doorway.

“Cassandra, what was —”

“Close that door!” Cassandra roared.

By the time he managed to close the door behind him, a giant puddle had formed on the threshold, the small carpet placed there for wet feet completely soaked through.

Ellana stood up. “Please tell me there are giant spiders attacking and you need my bow. I can be ready in a trice.”

Josephine shivered and her teeth chattered. “All of the heat in this room has been sucked away. I shall never be warm again.” 

The Commander stared at the group in living room. “Cassandra, your note said you needed my presence urgently.”

“We do. Take off your cloak and sit.”

“The poor corporal was soaked through when he reached me. The rains are torrential. You sent word to me about a dinner party?”

Leliana swept her hand toward the empty chair. “Commander, do not keep the ladies waiting. Please sit.”

“I will wait for you in the Chantry.” He reached for the door handle.

The five women shrieked. 

“Do not open that door!” Mother Giselle yelled.

“Cullen. Take off your cloak and hang it up to dry, if you even know how.” Cassandra shook her head. “Tch. Fereldan boys really are born in the barn.”

“What am I doing here?” he demanded.

Josephine turned in her chair. “We are having dinner. We need a sixth. You have attended enough formal dinners to play the part.” 

After a long, uninterrupted pause, the Commander said, “As I said, I’ll be in the Chantry.” 

“Sit. Down. Cullen,” Cassandra said. “If nothing else, you need a halfway decent meal. Don’t look at me like that, I get reports on what meals you do and don’t eat. Sit.”

Ellana wondered why Cassandra would be interested in what the Commander was eating. Or whether he was eating or not.

“Put something over the chair, would you?” Josephine said. “He’s soaked through. Poor thing.”

Ellana glanced at Josephine. Had she just referred to the Commander as _poor thing_? 

Cassandra tossed a towel onto the seat of the chair at the opposite end of the table from Ellana. Then she pointed at the chair. “Sit.”

“I want everyone to acknowledge I’m here under protest,” he said.

“Duly noted, Commander,” Leliana said. “Now sit down.”

The Commander sat down in the chair opposite Ellana. He had to shift and adjust against the padded seat, obviously uncomfortable in his armor, and his expression did not lighten for a moment. The expression she had gotten so used to during those mornings of training with him.

Thinking about that training, though, always brought her back to that moment when she had been about to launch herself at him in the woods. When the boar had nearly gutted them. She thought about it too damned often, to be honest. For a few brief seconds she had thought she was attracted to him and maybe he felt the same way, but probably—hopefully—it was just the excitement of still being alive. It had lasted only seconds—less time for him than for her. 

After that day, they had talked a few times, and it had felt like things were easing between them. He had actually laughed at her jokes, once or twice, which felt like a personal victory, albeit not one she could write in a report. And of course the day of the blowup in the War Council—she had made peace with him after that. That conversation in his tent had been one of the mot comforting ones she had had, since she had woken up after the Conclave. As though he understood what she was going through.

But most days he was the harsh, demanding bastard he always had been, so she wasn’t much concerned he carried a secret crush on her. Or even liked her.

They had civil conversations, not flirtatious ones.

She ought to thank him for making it easy not to think about him.

However, she had been staring at him nonstop since he sat down at the table, and if she didn’t do something to cover for why she was doing that, someone was going to comment on her interest.

“Well, now I understand why Varric calls you Curly,” Ellana said.

The Commander made a noise as he raised his hand to the back of his hair and made a face.

Leliana made a gesture that meant “get your hand off your hair.”

He slammed his hand down on the table. All of the crystal goblets jumped. “If you wanted someone to play the part of an Orlesian, you should have got Chancellor Roderick for this.”

Josephine cleared her throat. “He wasn’t available.” 

“Did you search really hard?” the Commander said.

It sounded like something firm hit metal. Cassandra must have kicked him under the table. 

“Now that everyone’s here, shall we begin?” Mother Giselle said pleasantly.

Leliana rang the bell. 

Gwenid and Tabitha, the house servants, came out with trays of delicately layered salmon cakes with a spot of cream on top. They served each person and then glided away. Gwenid came back with a crystal decanter filled with a pale yellow wine. She was about to tip the decanter over one of the wine goblets in front of Ellana, when Josephine interrupted her and pointed to the other glass. “White always goes in the glass shaped like this,” she said.

“Types of wine have different sorts of glasses?” Ellana asked her. When Josephine nodded, she shook her head. “That’s a lot of wine glasses to keep around.” She reached for the goblet of white wine in front of her.

Leliana pulled her hand away and put her own over Ellana’s, on the table. “You wait until everyone’s been served. You wait for everyone to make a comment on beautiful the food is. One by one, every guest turns to the host and praises their excellent culinary skills.”

“Despite the fact that most of these people have no idea where the kitchen in their house is,” Ellana said.

Leliana cleared her throat. “You always begin with the outer most eating utensil, as so.” She picked up the small fork at the edge of her place setting. 

They ate the small salmon cake, and each of the four women took turns telling Ellana how to hold the fork, how fast to eat, and what things she could and could not talk about when a dish prepared with seafood was served. The Commander made a face from time to time.

Suddenly Ellana understood. “This is all an elaborate code, isn’t it? For who belongs, and who doesn’t.”

“Exactly,” Cassandra said.

“Brava,” Mother Giselle said.

The Commander merely grunted and put his fork down.

“Not on that side of the plate, Cullen,” Cassandra muttered.

Ellana could appreciate the depth of the Commander’s frustration with this whole process. “In his favor, he appears more familiar with this than I do,” she said.

“Cullen was the Knight-Captain at the Circle in Kirkwall,” Cassandra said. “Undoubtedly he had to attend a few society dinners. And balls.”

Ellana had spied on formal parties at noblemen’s estates from the trees, where _shemlen_ dressed up in fancy, elaborate clothes they kept on hand for special, infrequent occasions. They looked like kings and queens out of the books Ellana studied in secret with the woman who taught her to read, who had taught her so many languages. Ellana had loved looking at the pictures of the royals with their fancy jewelry and elaborate tailoring. Seeing them in person at these parties was like watching the characters out of fairy stories walk out of the books and on to the lawns in front of her very eyes.

Later in the evening, though, they always turned back into regular people. She watched them paw at one another in the dark corners, furtive and panting. She was no stranger to what people copulating looked like—you couldn’t be, in a Dalish clan, with everyone living in close quarters—but there was something undeniably strange and lewd in the way _shemlen_ were so desperate to hide what they were doing from everyone. Perhaps even mostly hiding it from themselves. In the dark, where no one could see them.

She imagined what the Commander would have looked like in formal attire at one of those society gatherings. Probably quite formidable. It was easy to picture _shemlen_ , ladies and gentlemen, fawning over him. How many dark corners had he ended up in?

“Did you enjoy the society parties, Commander?” Ellana said.

He grunted and looked away. She took that to mean he did not. Or perhaps he missed them all too much.

No, she didn’t believe that of him. Not really.

“While that is an interesting topic,” Leliana said, “it will have to wait for another time.”

“Let me guess. I should never ask whether someone’s enjoying themselves or has ever enjoyed themselves or even has the capacity to enjoy themselves?”

“Assume everyone is having the time of their lives, even as the house burns down around you.”

“Could someone scribble down a list of appropriate topics of conversation?” Ellana asked. “I’ll never keep track on my own.” 

“What would you like to talk about?” Josephine said.

Ellana squinted. “How about, elves do all the work for these parties and then never get to enjoy them?”

Cassandra sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. Mother Giselle coughed. 

The Commander just stared directly at her, as if studying a scientific specimen he’d never seen before. Ellana opened her eyes wide and stared right back, as if to ask what he was looking at.

“No,” Leliana said. “You may absolutely not talk about that. Particularly in Orlais.”

Ellana dropped her fork and it clattered on the china. “Then help me out, please What is a safe topic of conversation?” 

“The weather is always good.” Josephine sipped her water. “As we all know, all too well, the weather is unseasonably cold and wet today, Herald. What are the winter rains like in the area where you’re from?”

“Oh, they’re simply fantastic,” Ellana said, with a sigh. She looked at Leliana. “Am I allowed to enthusiastic about something, particularly not in Orlais?”

Leliana smiled and sipped her white wine. “Only if it’s guaranteed to make the people you’re talking to feel small by comparison.”

“Then this one is easy. In the northern Free Marches the temperature never changes much during the year. We mark the seasons by amount of rainfall. The summers are dry, and the winters are wet.” She pointed to the window. “In the darkest days of winter, the rain comes down like this, but it’s warm. Warm as bathwater. It’s never good to stay in water for too long, of course, everyone knows that, but on the days of the warmest rains everyone heads to the lakes and streams to really enjoy the all over sensation of warm water flowing over every part of you. Everyone goes. It’s simply delightful.”

“That does sound lovely,” Mother Giselle said. “Can’t imagine doing that here. What sorts of bathing costumes do you use?”

Ellana snorted. “No one wears clothing into the water. Why would you bother? We don’t wear much clothing the rest of the time as it is, so…”

She took a long sip of her wine as all five of the other people at the table stopped eating. Or drinking. Or doing anything except breathing. Cassandra blinked, rapidly. Josephine covered her mouth and stared at Ellana. Mother Giselle’s eyes closed and she appeared to be praying. Most amusing, the Commander did his best to look stern and grumpy, but he couldn’t do anything about the shade of pink flushing his neck.

Ellana forced herself not to smirk as she put the glass down. “Since everyone comes to the water—Dalish and _shemlen_ alike—it’s no surprise, really, that the banner season for babies in the clan is always at the beginning of the next…um, your Harvestmere,” Ellana said.

Leliana studied Ellana carefully. “Was any of what you just said true?” she asked.

Ellana wasn’t at all surprised Leliana hadn’t reprimanded her for the topic she had spoken about. It wasn’t like she didn’t know she couldn’t say those things in polite company. “Is asking whether something’s true considered politic at an Orlesian gathering?”

After a moment, Leliana shook her head. 

“Then you don’t get to ask either.” Ellana raised her eyebrows and then she looked around the table. “How am I doing at making interesting conversation?”

Of all people, the Commander broke the silence. He made a sound not unlike being strangled before he really let loose with loud laughs. Then he shook his head. “Oh Maker. You’re going to get us all killed.” 

Ellana was really pleased he was the person to pick up on how deliberately she was being impudent. “Maybe they’ll just think I’m eccentric. After all…everyone knows how the Dalish are, don’t they?” 

Well. And there it was. The primary reason she knew this enterprise was doomed to fail, at least with her as a part of it.

The War Council had never discussed the reputation Dalish elves had for promiscuity and hyper-sexuality. It had to be on their minds—she certainly got forcibly reminded of it each and every time she had ever visited a _shem_ township or settlement. Probably this dinner party wasn’t the place to discuss it, but the insinuations and come-ons in Orlais were going to be brutal, no question, particularly at those parties where everyone sought out dark corners. 

She thought back to those dark, grunting figures thrusting at one another in the dark corners of the noblemen’s parties and wondered how the Dalish were the ones who ended up with the reputation for licentiousness. 

Or, as her people were given to call it: “Orelesan.” _In the Orlesian fashion_.

Oh no. She was staring at the Commander again. She forced herself to look away, quickly, before she spent too much time imagining him at one of those parties.

Ellana cleared her throat. “What do you want me to say? I’m not the one who decided sending a Dalish elf as a representative of the Inquisition to Val Royeaux was a good idea. That’s on all of you.” She flicked her fingernail against the crystal goblet holding the red wine, and it made a satisfying musical note. “But yes. We’re all going to die, most likely due to some Orlesian noble’s trickery, because I haven’t had twenty-six years of studying the intricacies of this wholly artificial social framework.” She picked up the glass. “Cheers.”

“How old are you?” the Commander asked.

“Twenty five,” she said. “Studying this nonsense would have to start at birth.”

Leliana pinched the top of her nose and closed her eyes. Then she shook off whatever she was thinking and raised the bell. “All right. Let’s concentrate on table manners.. We’ll begin with the soup course. You take the soup spoon like this…” The spymaster picked one of the eighty-seven pieces of silverware on the table in front of her—this spoon only marginally different from another—and held it in her hand with an unnatural pinching grip.

Ellana looked down the table toward the Commander, who was completely red in the face from keeping his laughter from bursting out again. Their glances met for a moment, before he coughed and looked away.

She did notice, however, he knew which spoon to pick up. 

Well, perhaps if the Fereldan commander could learn this, she could make some headway with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could have, I would have just ripped off the formal dinner party training scene from "Pretty Woman." But alas, I haven't seen that movie in years, so I did my best.


	10. Val Royeaux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and company head to Val Royeaux to meet with Lord Seeker Lucius and the Templars. Spoiler alert: things go poorly.
> 
> That's okay, because it turns out Ellana and the Inquisition have someone in their corner they weren't expecting: the Grand Duke Gaspard, currently engaged in a civil war with his cousin, the Empress Celene. Yeah, Gaspard has his own reasons for helping the Inquisition -- all of them self-serving -- but "the enemy of my enemy" and all that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaspard and company show up more in “The Owner’s Mark” than they do in most DAI stories (it will become obvious after a while why :) ) and I was surprised when I read on Dragon Age Wiki that he’s supposed to be 67 at the time of DAI. (He’s born in 8:74 Blessed.) 
> 
> Likewise, Florianne is supposed to be 53 (8:87 Blessed). 
> 
> Well, that didn’t work for me, so I summarily lopped 20 years off their ages for this story. DEAL WITH IT, DE CHALONS TRUTHERS. In this tale, he is 47 and Florianne is 33. 
> 
> I’ve kept the ages of the Valmont side the same: Celene is still 36, and Briala is early 30s.

Ellana had felt like an outsider since the minute she woke up after the Conclave, her hands in chains. 

As she stood outside of the capital of the Orlesian Empire, Val Royeaux, and looked in, she _knew_ she was an outsider.

Of course, Val Royeaux was designed to elicit exactly that reaction in everyone who saw it, no matter who they were, no matter where they came from.

A large arched bridge, with towers taller than most of the hills in the Free Marches, led into the city, with the soaring arches and giant statues of goddesses and legendary heroes lining the sides. The walls on either side of the boulevard into the city proper had the pantheon of Orlesian rulers in stone and paint and stone murals. Every twenty feet stood a docent, waiting patiently to explain who each monarch was to the overwhelmed visitor. Marble fountains of water and wine were available to any thirsty drinker. The intricate metalwork and marble carving everywhere, even for the most mundane uses on sewer grates and the backsides of chimneys, as though they had nothing better to ask of their artisans.

The architecture was nothing compared to the flood of people.

There were _so many_ people.

In the forests of the Free Marches and the cold, rocky terrain of Ferelden, Ellana never saw this many people together at one time. Tens of thousands moving into the city and out. Here in Val Royeaux there were so many people, and she knew she wasn’t even seeing a fraction of them here at the entrance. 

In the center of the boulevard the major aristocrats rode in carriages drawn by horses.

On either side of the carriages strolled merchants with their flowing rich robes in a variety of deep colors and the nobility with their spun silver and gold clothing. 

Outside of the nobility were the tradesmen and liveried servants kept to the very outside of the road, stuck in thick lines.

The people in Val Royeaux had never run from an invader, from a threat. These people had never gone hungry for an instant. _This is where we are and what we have_ , the city said. _Look upon our magnificence and weep._

Ellana took a deep breath. “I may have miscalculated how ready I am to be here,” she said.

“That feeling of awe and unworthiness you have right now? Everyone feels small and weak when they enter Val Royeaux,” Cassandra told her. “I was the Right Hand of the Divine for twenty years, I lived in the Grand Chantry in the center of the city with apartments that looked over the Plaza des Empereurs, and I felt the same way each and every morning.”

Cassandra’s words comforted her a little. But only a little.

They began the long walk into the city, with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas by her side.

It was not hard to notice all the elves wore servants’ uniforms—or worse. All the dwarves were tradesmen or manual laborers. And there were only two Qunari she spotted on the entire boulevard. Only the humans carried weapons, and mostly those were confined to the guards who stood everywhere. 

Val Royeaux was proudly, loudly, unapologetically solely for the joy and delight of _shemlen_.

On the bridge into the capital city, Ellana noticed the stares, the whispers, the titters that lace-gloved hands and fans weren’t meant to hide but to emphasize. She was either a figure of ridicule or pointedly sneered at.

In contrast, the nobles they passed bowed before Cassandra and her Seeker tabard. Cassandra ignored them all. “Hold your head up and let’s get this over with,” she said.

Ellana wished it could be as simple as that, but Val Royeaux did not want to make this easy for her. 

That was okay; she was Dalish. She knew how to survive a bad situation. She suspected most of the people here did not.

The Inquisition had sent word ahead that they were coming, but no one came to greet them. Not from the court of Empress Celene, not from the Order of Seekers, not from whoever was running the Chantry from the offices in the city. 

Guards stopped them as they exited the bridge on to the main boulevard leading into Val Royeaux. “See here, knife-ear,” one of them spat. “You can’t take weapons in here. Not for you.” The guard looked at Varric and squinted her already heavily lined eyes at him. “Nor him neither.” 

Ellana could feel her companions watching to see how she reacted. If she looked to Cassandra for guidance, she would lose this first battle. “We are the ambassadors from the Inquisition. Stand aside.”

The second guard laughed. “The Inquisition,” he said.

Ellana held up her left hand in his face, the light blinding him for a moment. Then she showed it to the first guard, who held a hand over her eyes to shield them from the glow. “Yes. The Inquisition. Stand. Aside.”

The guards looked at one another and clearly decided it wasn’t worth their lives to stand against this…this…whatever she was. “Get the head guardsman,” the first guard said, and the second one took off running. The first guard, however, didn’t continue trying to block their path; she got the hell out of their way.

After they had walked another hundred yards toward the city, Varric said, “Neat trick you got there, Bright Eyes.”

“I don’t want to have to do that one too often,” she said. She flexed her fingers. “It will lose the element of surprise.”

“Soon enough they will know who they are dealing with,” Solas said.

“The Dalish elf who’s completely out of her element?” Ellana said. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen too soon either.”

The road they had walked down split into two wide avenues that stretched off to the left and right, both of them lined with gigantic, ornate buildings with shops and restaurants nestled into every street-level nook. Cassandra pointed to their left. “Let us head to the Plaza of the Saints. Someone there will know where Lord Seeker Lucius is.”

“You know this Lucius well?” Ellana asked.

Cassandra nodded. “He is a good man. Harsh but…you know.”

“Well, he is a Seeker.”

Cassandra cracked a smile. “Exactly.”

~ O ~

The Grand Duke Gaspard stood at the window in his office in his palace in Val Royeaux and looked over the city spread below. He kept running his fingers over his mustache, a gesture even he recognized as a nervous tic. 

His office was two floors over the front door of his palace, which opened onto the Plaza Larécolte. The Avenue de Chalons ran from the Plaza Larécolte, named in honor of one of Gaspard’s military victories, to the Plaza Des Empereurs, the center of the city. Where the Imperial Palace and the Grand Chantry faced each across the largest plaza in all of Orlais. 

Avenue de Chalons ran precisely one mile in length from its start at Larécolte to its end at Des Empereurs.

The longest mile Gaspard had ever known.

There was a light knock on his office door. 

“Come in,” he said. 

His military adjutant, Chevalier Kruse, entered holding a leather dossier. Kruse was a docile young man—but he was definitely a hard worker and a good soldier.

“Latest reports from the field, Your Highness,” he said. He held the dossier out.

Gaspard leafed through it quickly. The latest reports described the clashes between his forces and those of his cousin, the Empress Celene. Most of the engagements were in the Dales, the rich band of land on the eastern side of Orlais, next to the Frostback Mountains. Most of the battles had gone just as Gaspard wanted them to: he needed to test the fighting readiness of Celene’s forces. Even if her troops were testing his right back, in most of the cases Gaspard had gotten the best of it. Excellent. 

The horrifying rifts that spilled demons out like candies at a Summersday fair were creating havoc all over the Empire, impeding the flow of soldiers and food. Fighters sometimes had to decide whether to concentrate their forces on the opposing army or the wraiths and shades flooding out nearby.

Even worse than the even the demons, though, were the reports out of Halamshiral, the city of the Winter Palace. The majority of the population there were elves, and they were stirring up trouble and fighting against everyone: Celene’s and Gaspard’s forces were attacked in equal measures. Celene’s troops had put down the worst of the uprising with unmitigated slaughter, which had damped down the trouble for now. Gaspard suspected the elves’ fury was going to come back tenfold after that.

Damn Briala for her interference.

Briala. The name made Gaspard want to spit. The elf born to the Valmont family servants who became Celene’s close friend, spymaster, and lover. Briala had since rejected Celene’s affection, preferring to rabble-rouse the elves in some misguided attempt to lead a revolution.

He slammed the dossier shut. That was what you got from raising elves above their station, he thought.

Armand, Gaspard’s most trusted aide, advisor, and spymaster, walked in to Gaspard’s office without knocking. The only person in the Empire allowed to do so without immediately earning Gaspard’s short sword in his side. The man bowed. “Good afternoon, Your Highness.” Armand gave him an oral report of what he had found out since their last meeting: which nobleman was secretly meeting with another, who was seriously in debt and considering switching from the Empress’s camp to the Grand Duke’s or vice versa, and which lending houses were calling in their markers on whom.

“You may be interested to know your sister the Grand Duchess is spending this afternoon with Her Radiance at a music salon.” 

His sister, the Grand Duchess Florianne, was with Celene, in the Imperial Palace. One mile away. The longest mile in Gaspard’s life.

Florianne had always publicly backed her brother in the civil war, although the last time they had spoken, she had passionately declared she wanted to bring peace between the Orlesian houses, not have one surrender to the other. And now she was with Celene, publicly, at a salon. What was she playing at? Gaspard raised his eyebrow.

“According to my sources, the Empress expresses affection toward your sister but is not overwhelmingly tender. No private conferences.”

So. Florianne hadn’t switched sides. At least not yet. But she was willing to be seen with Celene. Why? “Perhaps Florianne sincerely wants to find out if Celene would come to terms for a mutual peace. Interesting. What else?” 

“Several members of the Inquisition entered the city this morning,” Armand said. “You may remember the Right Hand of the Divine, Lady Cassandra. She was with them. Also this so-called Herald of Andraste.”

Armand had briefed Gaspard on who the Herald of Andraste was, as soon as reports from Ferelden had made their way into Orlais. Gaspard was not a religious man, but that title made him queasy. Especially given to a Dalish elf who worshiped her own pagan gods instead of the Maker! Ridiculous.

Another elf raised above her station. Gaspard sighed. Things were changing. He knew that. He wanted to help Orlais make it through those changes, as distasteful as they were to him.

“What are they doing here?” Gaspard asked.

“They came to speak with Lord Seeker Lucius. He doesn’t like them, however. He even assaulted the Revered Mother Hevara in the square, in front of witnesses.” 

Gaspard raised his eyebrows. “Is the man mad?”

“Indeed, afterward, several of his Templars talked quietly whether to stay with the Lord Seeker or to follow the Inquisition. I have received word this Herald of Andraste may be able to help with the problem of the rifts, but I am seeking more information on this.” Armand cleared his throat. “That’s all I have for now. You have something for me?”

Gaspard tapped the dossier and Armand sat down at the desk.

As his aide worked, Gaspard went back to looking out at the city. The finest place ever created. Here in Val Royeaux, it was easy to forget a war was raging. No matter what, war would never touch this place, the most beautiful city in Thedas. The center of art and music and religion and scholarship. The capital of the Empire.

The Empire he ought to be ruling.

Instead, his cousin Celene had been made Empress and the civil war was for the future of Orlais. Tradition versus adaptation, the past versus the future. The war was going to be long and messy and eventually Gaspard would win, because he was better at war than Celene was. But she was stubborn and a lot of Orlesians would die in the meantime. Because that was always how the rulers of Orlais had dealt with the possibility of change.

When Armand was done, he handed the dossier back to Gaspard. “I will watch what the Inquisition is up to.” 

“Do so. Discreetly.”

Armand nodded before he picked up the papers he had removed from the dossier and headed for the safe in the side room. A safe locked by runes and magics unbreakable by every spy Gaspard had put to the task.

The Grand Duke left his office and headed to his apartments at the other end of his palace. He was several steps into his bedroom before he even noticed the young woman lying on her side on his bed. Flowing black hair, glowing tawny skin, large doe-shaped black eyes, and not a stitch of clothing anywhere. 

He had never seen her before, whether at court or elsewhere. Someone this beautiful he would have remembered.

To be frank, though, he was a Grand Duke of the Orlesian Empire, so this wasn’t the first time he had ever found a strange woman in his bed. It would have cost her a fortune in bribes to make it past his servants and guards. Anyone who had that much money, Gaspard would already be acquainted with. Since he didn’t know this woman, that meant one thing and one thing only.

She was here courtesy of his cousin.

He wouldn’t put it past Celene to send an assassin after him in order to end this war. But if she wanted to assassinate him, there were easier ways to do it than sending a beautiful woman. All she would need to do was have a surrogate put amrita vein powder in his tea, perhaps. 

But if the Grand Duke died in Val Royeaux for any reason—including natural causes—the resulting fury and suspicion would end Celene’s rule immediately. She wouldn’t chance it.

Gaspard would never consider sending an assassin after his cousin. His greatest dream was to defeat her in front of the Maker and everyone else.

This lovely young woman had to be here for another reason, even if Celene were the driving force behind it. He laid the dossier on the side table in the corner before making his way to the side of the bed. The woman didn’t move as he sat down beside her and stroked his hand down the soft skin of her arm. She was so beautiful. Probably no more than twenty-four, and he was being generous at that assessment. Half his forty-seven years, at best. “What’s your name, my dear?” he asked.

“Marie Cerise,” she said.

“Marie Cerise _what_?” he asked.

She smiled shyly. She had deep, beautiful dimples, and even white teeth. A rare beauty, this one. “Panteleone, ser.” 

“Who let you into my quarters, Marie Cerise?”

“Please don’t be angry at them.”

“I’m not. I’m very pleased with them indeed. But I do need to know.” 

She told him the names of several of his household staff, which confirmed what he already suspected. The names she gave him were the phony names staffers gave to outsiders. Particularly outsiders suspected to be affiliated with the Empress.

“And what are you doing here, my darling girl?” 

“I am new to Val Royeaux, Your Highness.” She drew one fingernail down his cheek before cupping her hand around the back of his neck and pulling herself up. “I need a patron to take care of me.”

Gaspard suspected there was rather more to her presence than that, but he smiled. “Well, let me see what I can do about that.”

~ O ~

Ellana looked down at her clothing. Her shirt was torn and there was a spray of blood across her leather pants from one of the mercenaries she had just killed. After a morning where she had discovered exactly how much Lord Seeker Lucius and his forces were not interested in helping the Inquisition, she had spent the rest of the day either chasing ghosts or in a fight for her life. 

Turned out Val Royeaux, the jewel of the Orlesian Empire, was not so unlike Ferelden when you got right down to it.

She looked at Cassandra. “And we spent so much time on which fork I should use.”

Sera, the Red Jenny who had led them through the city to find the masked noble and his armed mercenaries, laughed. Her laugh was a loud, braying noise that echoed off the walls of the nearby warehouses. “Forks. I get it. For stabbing them in the eye, yeah? Get them really forked up, am I right?”

“Oh, Buttercup is going to fit in with us just great,” Varric said. 

“Shut up, Tethras,” Cassandra said. 

“We are being watched,” Solas said. “And not only by the City Guard.” 

Ellana looked at the dark alleyway between two warehouses. “Someone’s there?”

He nodded. “Someone was there. He didn’t interfere with us or our attackers, but he watched the entire time. Almost as if he were taking notes.”

“Shit,” Varric said.

“Well said,” Solas agreed.

“Who else would be watching us without helping us or joining in against us?” Ellana asked.

Sera was a city elf, shorter than Ellana, with her dirty blonde hair tied and a constant defiant look on her face. “Watching us, letting us see him, but you can’t tell nothing about him, right? That’s the Shadow Man.”

“He can’t be very good if Solas spotted him.”

“You only see the Shadow Man when he wants you to,” Sera said. “We need to go to ground, now. Come on, I know places.”

~ O ~

“Ser,” said the voice quietly.

Gaspard opened his eyes. Armand stood by the side of the bed. In one hand he held Gaspard’s dark blue robe. 

Gaspard glanced at Marie Cerise, who was either deeply asleep or good at faking it. He suspected she was dozing now. He reached for the robe.

As he walked out of his bedroom into the sitting area, he noted that the leather dossier he had left on the side table had been moved out of alignment. Gaspard always positioned papers to line up with the rectangular inlay of faint blue stone in the side table’s design, and now the dossier lay against the darker, more noticeable ruby red inlay. 

Oh, Marie Cerise, he thought. Well, he didn’t blame her: she was just doing her job. For herself first and Celene second.

Not being able to trust anyone was why he only ever brought phony reports to his private quarters. He never took important papers out of his office. They stayed in the safe, under guard. The phony reports were how he spread misinformation to his cousin’s spies. Who now included his bedmates.

Armand waited for him in the sitting room, standing with his arms clasped behind his back. The man was entirely unremarkable, which made him so very good at his job. Short, slender, with fey mannerisms and a countenance best described as “average.” Armand could blend into a crowd faster than anyone Gaspard had ever seen. He had no doubts that everything about the spy—his name, his manner of speaking, even his looks—was completely calculated to be average and forgettable. 

No matter. Armand had proved himself over and over to be extremely loyal to Gaspard and his cause.

Gaspard closed the bedroom door behind him. “You followed the Inquisition today?”

His aide and chief spymaster nodded. He informed the Grand Duke of everything the Inquisition party had seen and done while in Val Royeaux. They had taken out Bellini and his men, who had attacked the Herald for some unknown reason—unknown to the Herald, who had no idea who he was. Gaspard chuckled. He had been looking for a way to get Bellini’s forces off the board, and this Herald had accomplished that in the space of one afternoon, quietly and without fuss, and without alerting the City Guard. 

Interestingly, they had also made allies of the Red Jennys group. 

Hm. The Inquisition had had a very productive day in their fair city. Despite the weakness of their organization and the array of forces working against them, the fledging group was gaining friends and allies and dispatching enemies with ease. The rejection by Lord Seeker Lucius was a problem, but the Templars were a fractured bunch anyhow, and a large number of them would head to the Inquisition on their own.

Gaspard needed to know what the Inquisition was planning on doing with them. Was planning on doing with anyone, in fact.

“Do we have someone with them in Haven?” he asked.

“They are on their way,” Armand said.

“What’s their story going to be?” Gaspard asked.

“That’s the thing, ser. All a body needs to join the Inquisition is a desire to follow this Herald of Andraste. The problem, frankly, will be keeping our man from actually getting religion. Those joining the Inquisition become true believers, through and through.”

True believers, following a Dalish elf. Maker above, Thedas was changing more rapidly than Gaspard could credit. 

Gaspard needed all of the allies he could get in his civil war against his cousin. And despite his antipathy toward this so-called Herald of Andraste—he didn’t trust religious organizations he didn’t control, and he trusted Dalish elves even less than that—having an elf on his side could only help buoy his support among the people of Orlais. Especially after the way Celene put down the elven riots in Halamshiral and Briala’s machinations.

The Inquisition could be extremely useful.

“What do they need?” Gaspard asked.

“Money and personnel. But more than either of those, they need legitimacy. They need powerful allies to stand with them.” 

As Grand Duke of the Empire, he couldn’t ally with them. Not now. In the middle of a civil war, he needed to think of himself first. But who would be good to send to the aid of the Inquisition, to make them the most powerful religious organization in the land—and more importantly, to remove that power from Celene?

“How fares the fearsome Court Enchanter, Madame de Fer, these days?” he asked.

Armand nodded. He intuited immediately what Gaspard wanted, because that was one of the powers that made him so good at his job. “She wants the Circles reinstated. But she can’t parley with either her fellow mages or what remains of the Templars on her own. And of course, Her Radiance…”

Celene was not paying attention to the breakdown of the Chantry and the Circles. She considered such matters someone else’s problem. Gaspard nodded. “Let’s see if we can suggest to the Court Enchanter that she may wish to make new friends of the Inquisition before Celene does.”

Armand bowed his head. “At once, Your Highness.” His gaze flicked over to the bedroom door. “Would you like me to escort the young lady out, ser?”

Gaspard shook his head. “Celene’s paid her good money for her time. I’d hate to insult her.” 

“Name?”

“Marie Cerise Panteleone.”

Armand’s eyes looked up and to the side, and Gaspard knew he was running through the vast quantity of data he had on every family in Orlais. “Minor nobility from Val Orange.”

Val Orange. Celene’s territory. “My cousin finally suspects she’s going to lose this war. Brilliant.” When Armand nodded, Gaspard said, “Tell me more about the family.”

“Old lineage, land-rich but cash-poor. They have four daughters to marry off.” 

“If all four look like her, the family should have no trouble.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if after today they each have dowries.”

Gaspard snorted. “Don’t look at me like that, Armand. She had a very good time. She enjoyed herself several more times than I did.” 

The young woman had been so clumsy at pretending enthusiasm at the task ahead of her that Gaspard had amused himself by making her climax without receiving any attention himself. She had shrieked so wonderfully the first time, he hadn’t been able to stop from helping her reach that peak twice more before he finally allowed her to repay the favor.

“More importantly, ser, is her father is a Comte. She’s eligible. She has good family history and it would piss the Empress off something fierce if the Panteleones changed their allegiance.”

Armand was forever suggesting various alliances by marriage to him, but the very idea of taking another wife made Gaspard tired. He had been married, once, to the beautiful and treacherous Lady Calienne de Ghislain, who had died at the hands of his uncle, Celene’s father, Prince Reynaud. Only a year ago he had proposed marriage to Celene as a simple way to end this war, and she had refused. If he married now, his wife wouldn’t live out the week because of Celene’s fear of Gaspard siring an heir to the throne before she did. He couldn’t set anyone up for instant death, whether he cared about her or not.

Gaspard shook his head. “Let me finish this damn war before I consider remarriage, man.”

When the war was done and he was victorious, he ought to marry someone like Marie Cerise. A woman who was gorgeous and properly ennobled and young enough to mother several children. Eventually, of course, they would become bored with one another, because that was what always happened. He would ignore her every word and action as too trivial to bother with, and she would probably follow the path laid out by his own mother and fuck her way through the Palace Guards. He was twice Marie Cerise’s age and from past experiences with mistresses he knew such a young wife would never be more than an ornament. Such a marriage was simply asking for pain and annoyance.

Better she take the new dowry she had earned and find someone who might enjoy marriage to her for a year or two longer than he would.

His problem was, all of the interesting women he enjoyed talking to were already married. And while they might enjoy the attentions of a Grand Duke, this particular Grand Duke did not interfere with married women. 

The door to the bedroom opened. Marie Cerise had one of the bedsheets draped around her. “Your Highness?” she said.

The spy chuckled. “See you in the morning, ser.” 

Gaspard smiled as he lightly held the woman’s chin before he leaned in to kiss her. “I would like you to stay,” he whispered. “And I will think of some introductions I can make tomorrow.” 

She smiled, those deep dimples firing again. “I would like that very much, ser.” 

~ O ~

The Inquisition party spent two days in Val Royeaux, getting messages by raven from Leliana and either trying to get meetings with or being insulted by various minor nobles. On the third day, Cassandra said it was time to head back to Haven.

“With me, yeah?” Sera said.

Cassandra made the “Why me” noise. “Yes, Sera, you too.”

They were ready to get on the move when Sera received a message from one of her Red Jenny associates. “Someone’s looking for you lot. Someone in fancy livery with a smooth gray horse under their arse.” 

They sent word to the person looking for them that they would meet near the fountains of the Chantry of Andraste’s Shrine (not to be confused with the Andraste’s Shrine Chantry or the Chantry of the Shrine of Andraste). Right at the eleven o’clock hour, a beautiful young woman in cream, brown, and golden-orange livery slid off the saddle of the light grey horse and bowed before Ellana. “You are the Herald of Andraste?” she asked.

Ellana bit down on her tongue to keep from one of her sarcastic responses. Instead, she asked herself Leliana would respond. “Indeed, I am known as such.”

“I bear you an invitation from the Court Enchanter, the Lady Vivienne. She would like to meet with you and hear your plans for the future of the Chantry. And the Circles.”

Ellana glanced at Cassandra, who stood behind the messenger and nodded curtly.

“No communiqué could be more welcome,” Ellana told the messenger.

Cassandra gave her a quick thumbs-up. 

“May we expect you and your party at the Chateau de Ghislain this week?” the messenger asked.

“If such a thing is acceptable to Her Ladyship,” Ellana said.

The messenger handed over a few documents—directions to the Chateau, most likely—and then trotted off. Ellana watched her go.

“How important is this meeting with Madame de Fer?” Ellana said.

“Trust me, it’s good we went over the forks and how to properly eat soup,” Cassandra said.

“What sort of clothing do we need?”

Cassandra looked at Ellana’s dirty and utilitarian shirt, leather pants, and leather duster, and sighed. “We should shop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has always bugged me that Vivienne basically shows up out of nowhere to aid the Inquisition (particularly an unsophisticated bunch living in the back of beyond like the Inquisition in Haven. I mean, the religious organizations, even post Conclave, are REALLY powerful. Seems odd she would seek the Inquisition out…unless pushed (knowingly or not) by an outside force.


	11. Kirkwall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resentment and fights are breaking out in Haven over the growing presence of mages. Cullen is keeping the peace as best he can, but it might be time to tell the Herald why some people aren't going to like that very much.

Every day more and more people trickled into Haven, brought there by the Inquisition.

No, Cullen thought. Brought there by the Herald.

Today it was two more mages. Earlier in the week it had been a Templar. Five people who hadn’t been on either side of the war also made their way: one from Antiva, two from Ferelden, one from the far west of Orlais, and, Maker’s breath, one from the north of Anderfels.

That was a long pilgrimage to make, he thought.

Finding room to live for all of them was tricky. Josephine was in charge of those logistics.

Finding peace among them was trickier. That was his department.

Cullen walked into a large crowd outside the Chantry having yet another argument about mages. Always the mages. The people in Haven argued about mages the way…well, the way Templars always did. He separated the growing group of agitators from the pair of mages they had surrounded.

“We need to be safe!” one of the women yelled at him. He had never seen her before. She had to be new.“And we’re not safe with these mages about.”

“We’re people, same as you!” a mage from Ostwick named Ilan said.

“Enough!” Cullen yelled. “Back up, everyone!” 

“We’ve heard how much you care about mages, Rutherford!” Ilan yelled at him.

Cullen stared at him. “Step. Away.” 

“The Herald,” someone yelled. 

Cullen turned around. 

The group had finally returned from their month-long trip to Orlais and they were walking up the path from the town gates, looking exhausted and road-weary. Cassandra, Varric, Solas, a small blonde woman who was probably the Red Jenny named Sera, the Lady Vivienne, and of course Lavellan. The Dalish elf stood off to one side, her bow slung over her shoulder, and she stared at the assembly.

“Move,” she said to the men standing near her.

The arguing townspeople quietly backed up so she could walk to where Cullen stood. 

“Thank the Maker you’re returned safely, Herald,” he said.

“What’s going on here?”

At least twelve of the people standing in the circle around them starting talking simultaneously—until she held up her hand. Her right hand, he noted. Not using the power of the mark to silence them.

“The only person I am interested in hearing from right now is the Commander.” She stared directly at him, with those brilliant green eyes of hers. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“We have had a steady influx of newcomers to Haven, including quite a few mages. There is some discord about the best way of handling having this many mages in close quarters.”

“And we know exactly how Rutherford’s going to deal with it!” someone shouted.

Lavellan looked over her shoulder at the crowd behind her. “Whatever way he chooses, yes. You don’t like it, you can leave. Goes for the rest of you as well.” She turned back to him. “What sort of trouble?”

He shook his head. “So far, it’s only been simple arguments like this one.” 

But this wouldn’t be the end of it, he thought, and it was clear Lavellan understood that. She nodded and then waved her hands in the air. “All right. The show is over. I will talk to the Commander about this situation and we’ll figure something out. Everyone go about your business. If you can’t do that, go back to your homes. I’m tired and I haven’t the energy for this. But trust me, I will deal with it if I need to.” 

When no one moved, she said, “Get a move on!” 

Ilan the mage took two steps away before rushing back to the Lavellan’s side and leaning in close to her ear. Cullen felt a sharp stab of fear that Ilan was going to attack her and was about to grab him. 

“Ask him about Kirkwall,” Ilan hissed. “Ask him why we don’t trust him.”

Lavellan turned to look at Ilan in the eyes. “He is the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces. The Inquisition trusts him. That is answer enough. If you don’t like it, you’re welcome to take your chances elsewhere. I recommend instead you go home and sleep away what ails you.” 

They stared at one another until Ilan dropped his gaze down to the ground. “Herald,” he muttered.

Lavellan made a circle, staring at the townspeople who continued to stand there, ready for hostilities to break out. “The same goes for every other person here. I’ve had a very long and difficult month fighting for you and I don’t fancy coming home to this. I have brought the First Enchanter of Montsimmard with me—I can’t imagine what she thinks of you lot after this reception. Anyone says anything other than ‘Hello’ to her, you won’t get a chance at a second word. Go, now.” 

After a few moments, the crowd dispersed. There was muttering, but there was more bowing and nodding as people backed away. No one said a word to any of the mages and the mages didn’t talk to anyone else.

“Governance is never easy,” Vivienne said. “Knight-Commander Rutherford, how lovely to see you again.” 

It’s just Commander, he was tempted to say. But this wasn’t the time for this argument—or maybe it was too much the time. “Lady Vivienne.” 

“The same tensions as ever,” she said. “Mages, Templars, and innocent people of all kinds now look to the Inquisition to decide their fate.”

Lavellan shook her head. “They decide their own fate, but they look to the Inquisition to protect them, Lady Vivienne. And so we shall. However we deem best.”

After a moment, the First Enchanter bowed her head to the Dalish elf. “Indeed.” 

“We need to find accommodations for Lady Vivienne,” Cassandra said.

“She can have my room in the house,” Lavellan said. “I’m using to sleeping on hard ground near you at this point. Just lay out a roll in front of the fireplace for me.” 

Cassandra grunted and then agreed. 

“After Lady Vivienne is settled, meet in the War Room.” Lavellan didn’t wait for either Cullen or Cassandra to agree with her. She walked toward the Chantry doors. “I’ll get Lady Josephine and Sister Nightingale.”

Cullen followed Lavellan down the nave to the War Room. She ducked into Josephine’s office to get the Ambassador and came out with both Josephine and Leliana, who had been in conference. The four of them stood at the War Table, not speaking, until Cassandra came in, breathing hard and looking flustered. 

Lavellan stood absolutely still, stone-faced, and waited for the door to close behind Cassandra. When Leliana cleared her throat before saying something, Lavellan shook her head at her. “We will discuss Val Royeaux tomorrow. Today, tell me what the fuck happened in Kirkwall.”

Cullen blinked in shock. Cassandra glanced at him and then back to Lavellan. Leliana tapped her finger on the table that Josephine kept staring at.

After the room was silent for thirty seconds, she added, “Look, I’m tired, and I just came home to a near riot between the mages and the rest of Haven. Everyone else in this room already knows whatever story that mage alluded to. I do not.”

Cassandra sputtered. “But Herald, you sounded like you —”

“I lied, Cassandra. I’ve gotten so much better at it since joining the Inquisition. It’s a good skill to learn, I’m sure Leliana can help you out if you need pointers.” She looked around the room. “For some reason the Commander needs defending. I don’t like acting as though I know about something when I do not. Somebody tell me what I ought to already know.”

No one spoke. Lavellan shook her head, furious.

“All right. Let’s be clear. In the northern Free Marches, I spent my time running from Templars holding swords, running from angry _shem_ townspeople holding swords, and running from Tevinter slavers holding swords. I didn’t pay much attention to some war breaking out in a city hundreds of miles away between mages and Templars, none of whom ever gave a fuck about me either. I have no idea what happened in Kirkwall but I have the feeling this isn’t the last time I’m going to hear about it.”

She lifted her head and stared at Cullen. “So start talking.”

It was strange and not a little funny, Cullen thought. He _had_ expected she knew the story. Everyone else seemed to. 

“I was Knight-Captain at the Circle in Kirkwall. I served under Knight-Commander Meredith Stannard. Tensions were already running high between the mages and the Templars in many Circles, but in Kirkwall Meredith was far stricter than other Knight-Commanders. 

“What do you mean by strict?” 

Just say it, Cullen, he told himself. “They were silenced. Often given solitary if they didn’t comply. And we applied the rite of Tranquility more frequently than was usual in a Circle.” 

Lavellan closed her eyes. She knew how mages felt about Tranquility, which stripped them of their magical abilities—and their essential humanity. 

“And you?” When he didn’t answer immediately, Lavellan said, “You were one of her highest ranking officers.” 

How was he going to explain this? “At the beginning, I agreed with most of her measures.” 

“Which was not surprising,” Leliana said. “The way Kirkwall dealt with mages was fairly typical of the Circles. They also had a bigger problem.”

“Besides treating mages like prisoners? What else?”

In his mind he saw the approach to Kirkwall’s port, jammed with ships that couldn’t unload. “Kirkwall was also the main port that refugees from the Fereldan Blight headed to. Meredith refused entry to many—most of them.”

“Didn’t Kirkwall have a say in that?” Lavellan asked.

“There was no viscount in Kirkwall,” Cassandra said. “The Templars were the only governing body. It was chaos.” 

“Because of the chaos, some Qunari decided the city was ripe for capture and plunder and they invaded. Hawke saved Kirkwall, with Meredith’s help —”

Lavellan held up her hand. “This Hawke—this is Garrett Hawke? The person you’re looking for to be Inquisitor?”

Cassandra nodded. “He’s also known as the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“The one Varric wrote the book about?” Lavellan asked. “I suppose I’ll have to read it now. Continue.” 

“It’s not accurate,” Cassandra said.

Cullen took in a deep breath, all of his memories flooding back. Of Meredith’s outbursts that increased in fervor. Of Ser Alrik’s plan to tranquilize all the mages under the protection of the Templars. Of the blood mages who had unleashed hell on the unprotected citizens of Kirkwall. 

“It turned out Meredith and a few of the other Knight-Captains were—had become far more abusive than I had been aware of. A mage named Anders blew up the Chantry in the city. Meredith wanted to invoke the Rite of Annulment—she wanted to kill every mage in the city in order to restore order.”

“The Rite of Annulment? Sounds like a fancy ritual instead of a invitation to slaughter,” Lavellan said. 

“The order is supposed to come from the Divine,” Cullen said. “But Meredith didn’t want to wait. She was being driven mad by red lyrium—”

Lavellan looked at Cassandra, who nodded. “And you served this woman?” she asked Cullen.

“I didn’t know there was red lyrium involved!” he said. “Hawke wanted to stop her. I agreed and ordered her to step down. She accused anyone who stood against her of being the thrall of a blood mage. There was a massive, horrible, bloody battle and Hawke prevailed. But there was a cost.” 

“Rebellions broke out in every Circle,” Leliana said. “Once mages saw it could be done…”

“Meredith was defeated, but what happened in Kirkwall was the catalyst for this war between the mages and Templars,” Cullen said. “It was probably going to happen anyhow, but the fear and destruction she allowed—and that I helped—sped it along. I let it go on too long while hundreds paid the price, because I thought the Templars were doing the right thing.” 

“It was not an easy time, Herald,” Leliana said.

“Everyone in Antiva was worried the war was going to spread there,” Josephine added.

“After Meredith was deposed, I managed to regroup the remaining Templars and restored order to Kirkwall. Protected the mages remaining as best we could. Stopped the indiscriminate killing that had plagued the city for…years. But the Templar Order is no longer equipped to deal with the issues at hand. They have forgotten their mandate not only to protect the people from magic, but to protect mages themselves.”

After a long silence, Lavellan said, “Kirkwall is why you left Templars.”

After a moment, he nodded. “I cannot be a part of any such system again.” 

“But many of the mages who make their way here know you? They know what happened in Kirkwall? Or what they think happened?”

He heard the word _Kirkwall_ when he walked through Haven twenty times a day if he heard it at all. “If they were in a Circle, yes.”

“Varric did not help things with that damned book of his,” Cassandra said.

“Would you do it all the same way again?” Lavellan asked him.

How many times had he thought about that. There was no use having regrets, of course: you couldn’t change what had been. He had analyzed and considered and imagined a thousand different ways everything could have gone. 

“I would have trusted my instinct to push back against Meredith the first time,” he said.

Lavellan stood for a moment, staring at the War Table. 

“Herald—” Leliana said, but the Dalish elf raised her hand to cut her off.

“Well, let us hope we don’t get too many mages coming to Haven who are set in their ideas about the Commander.” Lavellan sighed and shook her head. “At least now I understand something I hadn’t before.”

“What’s that?” Cassandra asked.

“It’s not hard to figure out why Leliana isn’t the Inquisitor—she operates better from the shadows. I have come to understand why Cassandra isn’t suited to be the Inquisitor. But I could never understand why the Commander didn’t become the Inquisitor. After all, he’s used to running things.” Lavellan looked at him. “You don’t want to be put in that position again.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. 

“Let us hope we find this Hawke and soon.” Lavellan pressed her fingers to her temples. “This entire mess is giving me a headache.” 

Cassandra said, “We will have a problem if we have too many mages here. Simply because —”

“You don’t need to explain that part to the stupid elf, Cassandra. The Dalish won’t even allow more than three mages in the clan at any time. What arrangements can we make for the mages here?”

“Everything we’ve discussed have been unsatisfactory to someone,” Leliana said.

“There’s a shock,” Lavellan muttered. Then she stared into the distance between Cullen and Cassandra, as if looking at something or someone far away.  Then she shook her reverie off. “It’s obvious what we have to do.”

“What’s that?” Cassandra said.

“Call a town assembly first thing in the morning.” Lavellan told them what she was going to say. “And I have to be the one to do it,” she said.

“And why’s that?” Cassandra snapped at her.

“Because I’m not a mage or a Templar and I haven’t been a part of your Chantry. I’m not even human. I’m the only person here who can say this. Send the crier out.” 

~ O ~

There were too many people in Haven now to have the assembly inside the Chantry, so Leliana arranged it in the town square. The townspeople and mages crowded around the small stage erected in front of the Chantry. The army crowded on to the terraces leading toward the gates. 

The Herald mounted the box set up for her on the stage so that everyone could see her. 

Solas stood in the shadows of a tree near the Chantry, ostensibly to hear better, but actually because it would be easier for him to get to the Herald if she needed help. Not that she often needed help. But he suspected the townspeople weren’t going to like this.

“Look around you,” the Herald shouted. “Look at how many people are here. Hundreds more since I first arrived here eight months ago. More are coming every day. What worked when the Inquisition was small won’t work with this many people in one place. So we have two new rules. No exceptions. If you don’t like them, you are welcome to leave. If you stay, you agree to them. And that’s final. Here they are.

“The first rule is, if you are not a mage, you will not bother them. You have a problem with a mage _because_ they are a mage, you come see me or, if I’m away, you talk to the Commander. You do _anything_ else, you talk to anyone else, you will leave Haven and you will leave the protection of the Inquisition. The mages are here, they are part of us, and they will stay.”

Solas could see how the people in the crowd became uncomfortable, even angry, at someone telling them how they could and could not behave. Mages were figures of fear to most people and they did not like being told to change their ways. 

Murmuring broke out in the crowd. The Herald glared at them. “I’m not done yet. Here’s the second rule. If you are a mage, you do no magic at all, ever, anywhere near Haven.”

There were angry shouts.

The Herald pointed her green-glowing left hand toward the green-glowing Breach above their heads. The light in her palm flashed and the people in the crowd closest to her cowered and covered their faces in fear. Even Solas felt himself start with shock, and he had seen her operate the mark dozens of times. The crowd immediately quieted. “We are too close to the Fade to risk what might happen if magic runs wild and we have too many mages here to chance it. Everyone here knows it. You have a problem with this, there’s the door out of town and no one will hinder you leaving, I promise it. You do magic one time within twenty miles of this town without first getting permission, you leave Haven and you leave the protection of the Inquisition. No exceptions.” 

She looked around the crowd, from side to side, from front to back. Cullen, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine stood at the back, near the door to the house the Herald shared with Cassandra. Varric, Sera, Blackwall, and Vivienne stood further away. No one moved.

After several seconds had ticked by, the Herald said, “We are done arguing about mages. Everyone here is agreeing to travel this path together, human and elf and dwarf and Templar and mage and citizen. We walk together or we dig our graves together. Does everyone understand that?”

She took several very deep breaths as she stared at the crowd.

“Everyone nod if you understand.”

One by one, the townspeople, mages, and soldiers began to move their heads up and down. 

“Go about your business. The Commander doesn’t have time to deal with your resentments and neither do I. Neither does anyone else fighting for the Inquisition, for that matter. This is all done with now. Go.” She made brushing motions with her hands and slowly the assembly broke up, some people stopping to talk to each other and others just staring at the Herald as she stood there. 

Solas forced his way through the crowd to the Herald, who remained standing on her box on the stage in front of the Chantry as she watched everyone go. He held out his hand to help her off the box, although it wasn’t that tall and she could have done it easily. It covered how badly her hand was shaking. 

“ _Mala sulevin ghilana hanin_ ,” he whispered to her. _You are their Guide of Certain Purpose._  

The Herald chuckled before responding. “ _Ma suledin nadas_.” _I shall endure._ She looked up at him. “By the way, you’re not allowed to do magic around here either.” 

“Wouldn’t think of it after that little talk,” he said. “You are changing, _lethallin_. You are indeed becoming their Herald, even if you were not sent by Andraste herself.”

“I hope you mean that a compliment, Solas.”

“I would call you the student of Ghilan’nain. The halla who leads.”

She sighed. “Well, I hope I don’t get an arrow in my back for my troubles.”

“You won't. They love you, you know. You lead, they will follow.” After a moment, Solas added, “You spoke quite eloquently in defense of the Commander.”

“Well, someone ought to, once in a while,” she said. “Do you think he appreciated it, at least?”

Solas laughed. “As much as a _shem_ has ever appreciated anything, I’m sure.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was playing through the game again and got to the scene in Haven where Cullen is trying to keep the peace and thought, "Huh. This seems kind of significant. Why isn't a bigger deal made of this?" (Because Bioware doesn't have time for your "canon," people.) Anyhow, it seems to me that Cullen has three rather large secrets for the Herald to learn before she really figures out who he is, and this is the first of the three of them. 
> 
> It's okay, she has one or two coming up herself. :)


	12. Ellana falls in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana has had her hands full dealing with the Inquisition, annoying spymasters, and gossipy townspeople.
> 
> Turns out that's all nothing compared to what happens when she figures out (yes, finally) she might be attracted to a certain someone she sees all the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I have made Haven rather more of a town than it is in the game. Just go with it.

Ellana turned to leave the War Room and Leliana said, “Herald, a moment, if you please.”

She stepped out of the way so that the Commander and Cassandra, deep in their discussion of what soldiers they could send to build watchtowers in the Hinterlands, could pass. Ellana sighed and pushed the door shut. “What do you need?” 

“It is more of a question of what you need, Herald,” Leliana said.

“And you’re the person to tell me what that is, undoubtedly.”

The diminutive redhead nodded. “You’re doing better at taking a leadership role with the Inquisition. It’s nice that you brought back Lady Vivienne from Val Royeaux.”

“And Sera.”

“Oh, let’s not forget Sera. What a corker, that one. And that speech you gave the town about everyone behaving themselves. Very inspirational indeed.”

The Leliana slammed her hand down on the War Table, causing Ellana to jump back a step. “So where is that person in this room? Where is she, Herald?”

Ellana was not in the mood for this, after the morning’s meeting had dragged on so interminably. “What the hell are you talking about? Did we not just have an hour’s discussion about what to do with those Blades of Hessarian fellows I brought in from the Storm Coast?”

“Well, some of us did. I have no idea what the Void you were doing.” The spymaster laughed. “You mutter. You mumble. You might as well be knitting for all you seem engaged in what we’re doing. Are you knitting? I could use a new scarf.”

Ellana stared at Leliana, her lower lip beginning to tremble. Nothing she did was ever good enough for these people. Never. She had to stay here and do what they want and close their damned rifts and kill people and make allies and still nothing was good enough. “What exactly do you want of me?” she screamed.

Oh, _fenedhis_ , she had lost her damned temper immediately.

Which meant Leliana won. Didn’t even matter what the contest was—Ellana had got angry first. Just as Leliana had intended.

“You are one of us now. Start making decisions, Herald. I want you to start acting like you give a damn about what we do and how we do it.”

Ellana stared at the spymaster. “I have done.”

“In here, you’re little more than a drab addition to our meetings. At the very least, could you try dressing prettier? Perhaps you could show off that figure of yours. The Commander needs something nice to look at and he’s bored looking at the rest of us.”

Ellana was startled by the sudden spark of hope in her gut that Leliana had noticed something in the Commander’s attitude. What did the spymaster know? Did she know about the day Ellana had temporarily lost her mind and had desperately wanted the Commander? Perhaps Leliana just assumed every woman lost her mind over him, one time or another. She tried to imagine Leliana being infatuated with him, but her usually fertile imagination failed her on that one. 

“I don’t give a damn if he likes looking at me, Leliana. That’s not what I’m here for.”

“Are you certain of that, Herald?” Leliana asked, her voice suddenly gentle. “That’s not what your face betrays when you look at him.”

Oh. Now _that_ was interesting.

Ellana had noticed early on how the spymaster modulated her voice when she wanted to manipulate someone. Doing that now meant Leliana _hadn’t_ seen any such thought playing across Ellana’s face. No, Leliana wanted to plant the idea of infatuation in Ellana’s head, so every time Ellana looked at him from now on Leliana’s insinuation would play in her mind.

She let herself smirk. “You’re getting rusty with these tricks, Sister Nightingale. Do you simply have fun playing at intrigues with everyone? Can’t imagine the Commander enjoys you using him that way.” She put on a surprised look. “Unless he _enjoys_ you using him in various ways. Are there yet more as yet secret things I should know about the War Council?”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Why, Herald. What a thing to say.”

“About him or about you? Thanks for the talk. Enchanting as always. If you’ll excuse me.” 

As Ellana walked down the nave toward the Chantry doors, she told herself she wanted to laugh at Leliana’s manipulations. But instead they kept playing in her head. 

_The Commander needs something nice to look at._

_Fuck off, Leliana_ , Ellana thought. But she knew Leliana’s words were going to keep coming back to her.

One of these days, she was going to be ready for one of Leliana’s sneak attacks. But today was not that day.

~ O ~

The next morning, when Ellana opened her eyes, her first thought was: _Today is Thursday. I’m in Haven._  

Thursdays in Haven were good days.

Ellana headed directly to Marget and Timas’s bakery, which sat halfway down Butcher Street between the Singing Maiden on one side and Geert’s butcher shop on the other. Goodwives Kensey and Erin said hello to her, and Marget waved to her from behind the table. “I’ll be right out with the rye, Herald,” the baker said. Then she made the hand signal that meant she had something else for Ellana as well, because, of course, today was Thursday.

Ellana rubbed her hands together in excitement and wondered what the two goodwives were doing, pressed together by the window the way they were. Kensey and Erin already had bags of bread tucked in between their feet. Both women peeked over and around the lace curtains, checking who was outside and trying not to be seen. 

Ellana had walked down the street not two seconds ago and hadn’t seen anything odd out there. She leaned next to Kensey, looking out. “What are we looking at?” she asked.

“Shhh! Get down!” the older woman said. “He’ll see you.”

“Who will?”

Erin pulled a corner of the blue and white patterned curtain aside. “You know.”

“I don’t, actually. Who?”

“The Commander,” Erin whispered.

They were peeking out of the window…to spy on the Commander? “What about him?” Ellana asked. Were these women worried about him for some reason? She had been in the Storm Coast for three weeks and only back in Haven for a day, so she hadn’t had a chance to catch up on the latest gossip. What had happened?

Kensey made a noise and wiped the air with her hand. “What does she care? She talks to him all day every day,” she said dismissively.

Well, they did talk more than they had in the past. But most of their conversations were about missions and killing and the necessity for doing one to complete the other. Just this morning at the War Table he had been in an awful mood over the news from the Fallow Mire about their soldiers. Not that he was especially light-hearted or chatty away from the War Room: he was not a man given to conversation. Every time she thought they were getting to know one another better, something would happen—an argument over how best to rescue the soldiers or who to kill or whatever—and it was back to exactly where they started. 

He respected her abilities, she knew that.

He definitely took pride in how good she had become at the skills he taught her.

He liked what she was doing for the reputation of the Inquisition.

But to be honest…they didn’t know one another particularly well as actual people.

Interesting how everyone thought they did, though.

“Why are you looking for him?” Ellana asked, her voice just above a whisper. “Did something happen while I was away?”

“Tina’s out there right now.”

Tina. Tina. Ellana tried to remember which one Tina was. _Oh right._ Blonde. Big blue eyes. Bigger bosoms. Much bigger. Often gave men a heart attack if she hadn’t buttoned her blouse all the way to the top. She lived with her mother and three brothers in one of the smaller houses in Haven and she worked at the Singing Maiden.

Oh, of course. Ellana had passed Tina only moments ago as the young woman washed the walkway in front of the tavern—

And she had some connection with the Commander?

Well, this could very well be interesting gossip.

Ellana leaned over to see what she could make out through the window. 

The glass was wavy and opaque, but since living in Haven she had learned the technique of making out who was outside and what they were doing. Tina splashed water on the cobblestones, her head bobbing back and forth as she sang in her light soprano voice. A pair of soldiers walking up Butcher Street definitely spent an inordinate amount of time checking out Tina’s washing technique. Two builders carrying lumber over their shoulders walked down the street lost their rhythm and one nearly decapitated the other when he swerved to watch Tina’s undulating form.

And then the Commander rounded the corner from North Wall Street.

Erin clutched Kensey’s arm in excitement. 

“If he stops to talk to her again,” Erin said. 

“That would be two days in a row,” Kensey said.

“Does Tina make sure she’s out there every morning when he walks by?” Ellana asked.

Kensey said, “Are you stupid?” and Erin said, “Of course she does,” simultaneously. Neither broke from checking the window.

Tina took her hand off the mop to wave good morning to the Commander, who gave her a slight wave but didn’t break his pace. Probably headed toward the Chantry, Ellana thought. Or the town square. She hoped he was going toward the Chantry—but only if he needed to pray or be otherwise boring. If he was going for yet another War Room meeting, she would have to go, and if she walked in with her baked goods, she might have to share.

Sharing might be an important part of building community and trust, but some things she wanted to keep to herself.

Once he had passed by the shop, Kensey and Erin squealed and put their heads together, rapidly discussing the morning’s developments.

Ellana shook her head. What passed for adventure in a _shem_ town, she guessed.

Marget had her loaf of rye bread and on top of that, a square package, still warm, at the front table. The square package smelled like sugar and yeasty heaven. “Don’t encourage them,” the baker said, her voice quiet.

“How much do I—”

“Herald. You ask every time. After everything you’ve done for me and Timas and this town, I can’t bake you enough bread and I’m thrilled to do so. Besides which, if I took your money, Sister Leliana would appear in my house in the middle of the night and ask me did I really like it in Haven or would I prefer opening a shop somewhere else. For example, Minrathous.”

“I didn’t know she did things like that,” Ellana said.

“She hasn’t.” Marget pushed the bread further into Ellana’s arms. “And she won’t, if I can help it. Take this with my most sincere compliments. All I ask is that you don’t feed the fantasies these two are concocting. They scare away my other customers.”

Ellana looked over at Kensey and Erin. “Are they here often?”

“Every morning for the past week, checking on the progress of this grand romance.” Marget rolled her eyes. “That poor man.”

Marget felt sorry for him? That was unexpected. More importantly…he walked by here every day? Butcher Street wasn’t near the training field, and it wasn’t near his tent. He would have to go out of his way to take this route. _Very_ interesting. Maybe there was something to Kensey and Erin’s fantasies.

She tried to imagine the Commander and Tina having sex. Surprisingly, in her imagination he was still wearing the armor. Wouldn’t that be uncomfortable? For both of them?

“Ooo, look at her, she knows something,” Kensey said.

Ellana shook her head, mostly to make the images of the Commander shoving Tina up against the nearest wall go away. “Oh no. No, no, no. _No._ This is the first I’ve heard anything like this.” In fact, had she ever heard about the Commander and…well, anyone? She knew more about Tina’s love life than she did about his.

“Can you find out more?” Erin said. 

“Find out more about… You want me to ask the Commander if he likes Tina?”

Kensey and Erin’s round, apple-cheeked faces nodded in unison. 

“I enjoy living in Haven, ladies,” Ellana said, “with an emphasis on _living_. The man carries a very sharp sword and I assure you he knows how to use it. Good morning.” 

She took her paper parcels and walked up the street, back toward the town square. First, she would return to the house and eat the four buns, and she would give the loaf of rye bread to Gwenid and Tabitha, the elves who did all the work in the house. Her housemates, Cassandra, Mother Giselle, Lady Vivienne were welcome to get their own bread if they wanted some. Besides which, the rye bread needed a thick spread of butter and a sprinkle of salt on it. As much butter as bread to be honest—Ellana had only discovered butter since moving to Haven, and she couldn’t get enough of the stuff. Maybe one of the maids had gone to the dairy already, but if they hadn’t, she could take a quick run to Milk Street—

Her first clue she wasn’t paying attention to her surroundings was the silverite boot she kicked. 

She looked up to see the Commander staring at her. He had stopped in the middle of the road, where Butcher Street met the road that ran in front of the town square. He looked different in the middle of the day. More focused. Less angry. The sunlight really highlighted the gold in his hair.

Gods, when he wasn’t angry, he was really quite good-looking. It was for the best she didn’t notice that very often.

She heard Leliana’s voice: _The Commander needs something nice to look at._  

And now all Ellana could think in response was: _The Commander is himself something nice to look at._

She thought about the mental image she’d just had of the Commander banging away at Tina.

_Dammit, Leliana. Shut. Up._

Ellana blinked.

“Are you busy?” he asked. “Josephine can’t be budged.”

Well, yes, she had many pressing, important things to do. For example, Milk Street was the complete opposite direction and they might have already run out of butter. “Busy for what?” she asked.

“I have a raft of letters I need to get out as soon as possible. A while ago I heard a rumor you know how to read and write.” 

 _I’ve heard an interesting rumor about you, too, Commander, only just this morning_ , she thought. Then she realized he was grinning. The Commander…was making a joke. He was being funny by referring to the secret that had led to so much screaming at the War Table. She smiled curtly in response. “All right. Let me put these in my house—”

He looked at the paper packages in her arms and shook his head. “Take them with,” he said, and he turned to walk down the street. Ah, she thought, back to the Chantry after all, probably to work in the War Room

Instead, he kept walking.

Oh, of course. The new placement of the military encampment was on the outside of town, because the number of soldiers had grown too large for Haven. They were going to his tent.

She looked down at the special package Marget had given her. In the small tent, the Commander would be able to smell what was in it and then she would have to share.

He held the flap open for her and ushered her in. She had only ever been in there once, that night she went running in the hills, and she hadn’t paid much attention to what it looked like. His tent was neat, which was probably not especially hard given how few objects he owned. A bedroll on a cot. A trunk. The desk and chair. She stood in the middle of the space and looked around.

“Just put them over there,” he said, pointing to his trunk. “What do you have there, by the way? Smells delightful.” 

She held up the large oval one. “Rye bread.” She held up the square and sighed. “And these are cinnamon buns. With icing.” 

The change came over the Commander’s face instantaneously. He went from mildly grumpy and tired to wide-eyed and very interested. 

“You know what they are, I suppose,” Ellana said.

“I haven’t even seen one in years,” he said, his voice suddenly very soft.

_Oh bother._

Sharing was extremely important for community building, she reminded herself. Perhaps she could use the cinnamon bun to bribe him into liking her.

She opened the package and showed him the four buns dripping with the gooey sugared icing. “I usually eat all four by myself in about ten seconds flat. Would you like one, Commander?”

“If it’s not—if you have enough—yes, please,” he said, finally.

“Take one while the offer stands,” she said. “Tick tock.”

He pulled one of the buns from the group of four, covering his fingers in the icing. “Marget makes these for you?” he asked. His voice was filled with…

Filled with desire, quite frankly. Wonder. Longing. Whatever it was, it was a note in his voice Ellana had never heard over the War Table. Or when he stood beside her, making sure she could kill if necessary.

She nodded as she picked one up for herself. It was still warm, thank goodness. “When I’m in town, she makes me these every couple of days. I don’t want to be greedier than that but…it’s hard to say no.”

He wasn’t paying attention to her, he was eating. And as she watched him eat, she stopped having any idea what they were talking about.

The way the Commander took a bite of one of the cinnamon buns was a revelatory experience. Even if Ellana hadn’t already known he didn’t indulge himself with luxuries very often, the look on his face would have given that away. She had never seen anyone enjoy something so much and wondered like his face would like partaking of any number of sensual pleasures—

The overwhelming wave of lust that washed over her took Ellana completely by surprise. It had been so long she had felt anything so intense. Certainly since she had woken up after the Conclave. And she had no memories of feeling anything like this for anyone before.

She actually had no specific memories of what her love life might have been before she woke up after the Conclave, other than a general sense that she was too tall for the men in her clan.

She wanted to blame Leliana’s manipulations for this, but this was all her, reacting to him. Much the same way she had that day in the woods. Except this time she wasn’t coming off of the adrenaline surge of nearly dying. No, this was just simply lusting after another person. A very large, very good looking, extremely masculine sort of person.

Ellana thought: _Where the hell did that come from?_

She shook her head. She was tired, that was all. Those stupid women in the bakery had put her in this frame of mind. She would get over it.

He made one square sticky bun last an inordinate number of bites. It was fascinating to watch him enjoy every morsel. It was a little too fascinating, in fact. She had never seen him look relaxed before. More like a human being and less like a fearsome soldier. Who had desires. And tastes. And a mouth he definitely knew how to use. And obvious enjoyment of physical sensations.

 _Seriously, Ellana?_ she asked herself. All of the men she worked with every day, and she had to feel desire for this one? She must be going mad.

She cleared her throat. “What is it you want me to help you with, Commander?” she asked.

_“Well, I have this itch,” he whispered in her ear. “I was hoping you could scratch it.”_

Ellana blinked, hoping she had not just said that out loud.

He wiped off the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I can either write letters or I can come up with the proper words for them, but doing both takes me more time than I have right now. And sometimes my hand…” He flexed the fingers of his free hand. “Sometimes my handwriting is simply unreadable. If you could write down what I say and arrange it such that it makes sense, then all I have to do is copy it out later. It would be an immense help.” He shrugged and then stuck his thumb in his mouth to lick the rest of the icing off his finger.

 _Please stop doing that_ , she silently pleaded.

Ellana wondered if hearing Kensey and Erin speculate about the Commander’s love life had put her in this mood. She knew she was gazing at him much like he was staring at the last half of the bun in his hand. His very large hand with its wide fingertips. That would probably feel amazing against her skin.

_His hand caressing its way up her stomach, the roughened fingertips scratching against her skin—_

“And you don’t have any other scribes to work with?” Her voice sounded bizarre and off-key.

The Commander shrugged. He hadn’t noticed anything wrong with her behavior, thank Mythal. “I’ve had a few problems the times I’ve tried.”

She imagined, in great sensory detail, what sort of problems he might have had with them. Mostly with her in the starring role, either giving or receiving. Her imagination was helped immensely by the way he kept licking the icing off each and every one of his fingertips.

_He is very cross with her. “You’re misbehaving and ought to be punished.”_

_“Yes, ser,” she tells him._

_He swats her on the bottom. “Bend over the desk.”_

“And I very much doubt we’ll have those issues,” he said, cheerful.

She sighed. No, of course not. Who could imagine such a terrible, awful, unbelievable possibility. And could this bloody tent get any warmer? “Happy to help. Where do you want me?”

As soon as she said that, she felt the blush flood into her cheeks. Oh Creators, she had lost her mind and was about to humiliate herself in front of him. _Where do you want me?_ Maybe she should just throw herself at him and get it over with. The resulting humiliation would force her to leave. 

Not just leave Haven. No, she would go ahead and leave _Ferelden_. She would skip the Free Marches and simply head straight to Tevinter.

The Commander looked around. “Just sit at the desk. I tend to pace around.”

Ellana cleaned off the quill and reminded herself that until very recently—ten minutes ago, at the most—she had spent most of their acquaintance actively annoyed at or ignoring this man. Of course she had noticed he was very attractive. It would have been difficult for her not to see that, even if she hadn’t already been in the habit of sizing up every _shem_ man she ran across, since the _shemlen_ were usually the only ones to show any interest in her.

Mostly the Commander had obliged her in return by treating her as an irritant or a pupil, when he noticed her at all.

And somehow, today, she had become as light-headed and giddy as all the silly women in town.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

Her entire body was extremely ready, although not for writing letters. _This hard chair will be very uncomfortable_ , she thought. No, she thought: the chair would help her concentrate and force her body to calm down. Once her physical state returned to normal, her mental state would be fine, and then her attitude toward the Commander would return to normal. Surely she could behave herself around an attractive man—she was twenty-five years old, not fourteen. As long as she avoided looking at him and his handsome face and his ridiculous fingers, she would be fine. _Just don’t look at him, Ellana_ , she told herself. _All you have to do is listen to his voice._ “Yes. Go ahead.”

He dictated the letter, with various pauses and retractions and corrections, and Ellana demanded to know _how had she never listened to the man’s voice before_. Maybe because he had usually been yelling at her—yes, that had to be it. Because if she had ever paid attention for a second, she would have heard how intensely, well, _erotic_ he sounded. It was rich and musical and if any of the Chantry brothers who kept trying to convert Clan Lavellan to the Maker and Andraste had sounded like him, she would have signed up immediately. 

She might have done a few other things with them as well. The sorts of things running through her mind right now.

_“Do you always talk back?”_

_She smirked. “You have to ask at this point?”_

_His finger trailed down the side of her cheek. “Let’s find a few other uses for that mouth.”_

The Commander was standing right next to her. Right at the proper height for —

“Let me see,” he said.

She handed him the sheet and prayed she hadn’t doodled anything she couldn’t explain in the margins.

He looked at both sides of the paper. “You finished the entire letter,” he said.

“Just needs your signature,” she said. The look of surprise on his face made her laugh. “That’s what scribes do, Commander.”

“Well, I know Josie can do that, but I didn’t know anyone else could. Mostly they giggle and leave ink splotches everywhere on my desk. Of course, every time I see one of your reports I comment on how amazing your handwriting is. I suppose I’m not the first person to mention that.” 

What would he do, she wondered, if she ripped the letter out of his hands and asked, _Want to know what other amazing things my hand can do?_  

She had a sudden image of him over her, pinning her in place, his mouth moving down her breast, his knee forcing her legs apart—

This was ridiculous. She was twenty-five, she reminded herself, and as a grown woman she had a hold of herself. Her emotions. Her fantasies. She could stop herself from being stupid, right? Well…possibly. She was unsure about the limits to her stupidity at this point. “You have another one?”

He dictated two more rapidly—so rapidly she asked him to slow down and spell a few of the names.

She used the massive desk blotter to finish the third letter and she handed it over to him. He scanned it and half his mouth tilted up in a smile. The scar on the side of his mouth creased up somewhat—

 _Stop looking at his mouth, Ellana_ , she chided herself. _Don’t look at him, don’t listen to him, pretend you’re somewhere else right now._

“This rate, we’ll be done before noon,” he said. He sounded almost happy. Was this the Commander feeling happiness, or was this simple relief at having much of his paperwork done, or perhaps there was another reason? Alas, his happiness was probably not caused by her presence. He pointed at the page. “You don’t mind what I said about you?”

When she worked as a scribe, Ellana literally retained no memory of what her hand put on the page. She hoped what he said was flattering and not about what a useless twit she turned into when she was around him. She reached for the page in his hand to look at it, but he took it away and lay it next to the others to finish drying. “Whatever you said is fine, Commander. I honestly didn’t pay attention. How many more of these do you have?”

“Three. Three more. If you have time. Shouldn’t take too long. They’re much the same as the first three.”

Oh Creators. Three more of these letters. She really feared where her imagination was going to take her in the next five minutes, let alone the next hour. She tried to shake her feelings off with a cheerful smile. “Well, good. When we finish, we can celebrate with another one of those buns.”

The look of gratitude in his eyes was almost too much to bear.

Although, to be honest, she wanted to give him an entirely different reason to have that expression. 

_Oh, Mythal, please, get me out of this tent and get me out now._

He spoke, she wrote, and for the most part she focused on the writing. Except for when he stood behind her. She could feel heat radiating off his armor. 

“Your handwriting still looks perfect after five letters. Mine becomes unreadable gibberish after half of one. How do you do that?”

His proximity compromised her ability to breathe. She could smell his sweat and her body was heating up in response. She was sure he could smell her arousal. How could he not? “Are we…are we done with this?” she asked. 

“Are you all right, Herald? Your cheeks are flushed red.”

“I’m a little tired. And light-headed.”

“Just one more. Please.” 

When she finished writing the sixth letter and he pronounced it perfect, Ellana launched herself out of the hard desk chair. How did he sit in that thing, day after day, with armor on? The feel of that chair ought to be enough to cure her from lusting after him, because clearly he was insane. She picked up the wrapper holding the second pair of cinnamon buns.

“When did Marget start making these for you?” he asked her, wistful.

“She was very pleased with something I did. Something…incredibly important. Strange, I have no idea what the occasion was at the moment.”

He picked one up and smelled it. “Is there anything I could do to convince her to make these for me?”

“You can always ask. You know, when I was at the bakery this morning, I saw you on Butcher Street,” Ellana said. “It was somewhat odd to see you there. It’s not near the training area.”

“What? Oh.” He let out an annoyed sigh. “Every time I walk from my tent to Adan’s apothecary, there’s…well, there’s a young…someone who seems to wait for me, so I have been taking the long way around to avoid her. But now I’m not sure I can go that route too much more often, as I am having much the same problem there.” He shook his head. “Not sure what I can do to solve it, either.”

She found herself grinning at the expression on his face. The man was miserable because of how he was hounded by women. If he only knew what had been going through her mind right now. “Well, now I know something most other people don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“What the Commander must have looked like when he was a very naughty boy.”

He laughed and had to put his hand over his mouth to avoid spitting out the bite he had taken. His smile only increased this stupid, all-consuming infatuation that had dropped on her.

_“Would you like to know exactly how naughty I need you to be right now?” he asks._

_“Happy to oblige, Commander.”_

She knew what she should do. Take the remaining cinnamon bun, pick up her loaf of rye, and run away right now.

Instead, she leaned against the edge of his desk, her feet almost touching the toes of his boots. 

“I never had anything like these in the Free Marches. Probably why I like them so much. Did you have these growing up?”

“Oh. Once. Maybe twice. Very, very special occasions.” He finished the bun. “My mother made us birthday cakes. Cakes for four children took all the sugar we saw in a year.”

He kept cleaning his fingertips by licking them. It had to be a deliberate ploy to arouse every single one of her body’s senses. He wanted her in his bed, right now. There couldn’t possibly be any other explanation.

And, frankly, she was okay with that. 

She glanced over at his cot and wondered how it would feel pressing into her back. More importantly, how he would feel, pressing down on top of her.

Ellana cleared her throat to interrupt her train of thoughts. She couldn’t spend time alone with him like this ever again. “You need Josephine to find you someone to help you with your letter-writing, Commander.”

“Oh,” he said. He sounded disappointed.

“I can hardly help you when I have so many other responsibilities…” She did have other responsibilities, didn’t she? She must have some. She was almost sure she did, although she couldn’t remember what they were. She was having trouble remembering her own name at the moment. “You know. Traveling and such. After all, the Fallow Mire beckons come the morning.”

“That’s a pity.” He stood up, looking more like the serious man she saw in the War Room every day. “Working with you went very well indeed.”

That did seem to be true for them, didn’t it. They did work well together.

Except she was left with a burning need to get either as far from him as she could—or as close to him as possible, without impediments like clothes.

She pointed to the package the cinnamon buns had been in. “You just liked I came in here with…” _Buns. Sweet rolls._ Every way to finish that sentence sounded like she was referring to one of her body parts. 

Gods, he _had_ turned her into a fourteen year old.

“I’ll admit that didn’t hurt,” he said.

They both started laughing.

She looked at his mouth again—he had a streak of icing into the same spot, over the scar on his lip. Any other man would have been angling to use that maneuver to seduce her. Except he was the Commander. Such a thing would never occur to him. Why was it even occurring to her? It was like she was under a magical _geas_ or something—

She moved her gaze from his mouth to his eyes. He was staring at her, obviously wondering what was on her mind. _Wouldn’t you like to know?_ Ellana thought.

Oh, to hell with playing this game. The Commander was clearly used to women chasing him. Time to find out her reaction to her making the first move. 

She took another step toward him and reached up to his face. “You have some icing there.”

The door flap to the tent opened and Knight-Captain Rylen walked in so fast he was already halfway across the tent before he noticed Ellana standing next to him. “Oh, Maker. I’ll come back. Apologies.”

Ellana dropped her hand as fast as she could.

“What is it, Rylen?” the Commander asked.

The Knight-Captain held a sheaf of papers out to the Commander, who took them. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”

“We’re not,” the Commander said, scanning the first one. He had completely forgotten her existence. 

Good. That was good. Ellana scooted around the desk and tried to avoid looking at the Knight-Captain at all, although she sensed he was looking quite hard at her. “I need to go anyhow. Talk to Josephine, Commander.” Maybe Rylen hadn’t noticed the permanent blush staining her cheeks. 

“I will.” Cullen looked at her. “And Herald? Thank you.”

_Thank you._

She had fallen completely and totally head over heels in love for the one man in greater Thedas who regarded her as little more than a mild bother. Maybe a pleasant bother, when she could write letters for him and had cinnamon rolls. _Thank you._ She wanted to blame Kensey or Erin or even Tina, but she knew she had absolutely no one to blame but herself. 

She walked out of his tent and headed back toward town without stopping to acknowledge any of the greetings she got along the way. Rylen had interrupted her in the nick of time, she thought. A few seconds more and she would have literally thrown herself at him. Every other woman in town clearly had failed at landing the Commander, and she didn’t believe for a second that any of the men had done any better. Why would she think he had any more interest in her? 

She tried to imagine living with the daily reminder of her humiliation standing across the War Table from her.

The first thing she had to do was head back to Butcher Street.

The next time Marget handed her a package of those buns Ellana knew she would find a way to alert the Commander she had more. She would do it to spend time alone with him. To see that look on his face. Maybe get a little further than they had today. 

And…she could do none of that. She lived here in Haven and she would for the foreseeable future. She couldn’t act like a child who did whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, because she had to live here, among these people.

Marget was closing up the shop for the day. “Herald! I hope you haven’t finished all that bread already, I don’t have any more.” She looked Ellana up and down, as if trying to spy where she could have put a loaf of bread and four cinnamon buns in less than a day.

Damn, she had left the loaf of rye bread in the Commander’s tent. Well, she wasn’t going back there. Ever. He probably needed something to eat more than she did anyhow. “No, it’s not about… I want to ask an important favor of you. This is a strange thing to ask, I know, and it’s a difficult request for me to make.”

The baker waited.

“I love those buns, you know I do, beyond what is holy and reasonable… But please don’t make them for me any more.”

“What happened? Was there something wrong? I can make some more—”

“It might be nice if you make birthday cakes for the children in town instead.” She rushed the words out. “Any child under fifteen, perhaps. It might be very expensive getting the ingredients. I’ll ask Leliana about money. Must have some in the budget somewhere.”

“Are you certain?” The baker raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes,” Ellana said, nodding. “Completely certain.”

“Did somebody say something to you because of them?”

 _Only please. And thank you._ Ellana shook her head. “Nothing like that. It’s just…it’s indulgent. And I’m sure the children would enjoy a treat now and again. Probably don’t get things like that very often, do they? If anyone mentions the rolls to you, _ir abelas_. I didn’t mean to cause a problem for you.”

Marget nodded, clearly disappointed. “Sounds like you have the problem, Herald.”

The image of the Commander working his way down her body flashed through her mind again.

“You have no idea,” she muttered.

“At least tell me when your birthday is.”

Ellana shrugged. “Do you know, not sure exactly. My clan doesn’t use the Chantry calendar. It’s in the summer, though. Near Summerday, I think. There were always lots of festivals in the nearby towns.” She smiled, remembering sneaking off more than once to see what it was all about. And how she had always found a _shem_ boy looking back at her. 

Well, those days were over. 

“Thank you for understanding, Marget.”

“I don’t understand, Herald, I don’t understand at all. But I’ll do it. For you.”

~ O ~

Rylen stood in the center of Cullen’s tent, waiting to get an answer.

To more than one question, to be perfectly frank. 

After all, he hadn’t spent much time with the Herald, but he knew he had never seen her face glowing like that. Rylen had rarely seen an expression on anyone’s face half as seductive as the way she had gazed at the Commander. And it sure looked like she was about to kiss him.

Maker, if she ever looked like that at him he would completely forget himself. And Elisabetta. And every vow he’d ever taken.

“You have no idea how sorry I am I interrupted,” he said.

Cullen looked up at him from the papers. “Interrupted what?”

“Just now. The two of you. Looked like things were going well.” 

Cullen looked up at him, wearing a deep crease between his eyebrows. Rylen had seen the ex-Templar wear a number of expressions. He had never seen the man look baffled before. “What? Oh. The Herald.” He went back to reading, flipping through each sheet. “She was helping me write my letters. This all looks fine.”

When he handed the pages back to Rylen, he said, “What is it?”

“Ser, permission to—”

“Spit it out.”

“Come on, Cullen. This is the first time I’ve ever seen a woman in your tent who isn’t Lady Cassandra. And there’s a word for what was going on, and we both know it’s not _paperwork_. You have no idea how much I regret walking in on the two of you. What the hell, man, learn to secure the door a little more tightly.”

The bafflement was replaced by annoyance. “Oh, Maker’s breath, Rylen, leave off. She’s the Herald. We were talking.” He waved his hand toward the door. “Get out of here, I’m busy.” 

Rylen shook his head. He had known Cullen Rutherford for seven years and still couldn’t figure out what made the man tick. Because if he missed the obvious about what had been happening with the Herald, there was something seriously wrong with him. “Now I wish I had interrupted the two of you at something. At least you’d be in a bad mood for a good reason.”

Bafflement gave way to the stony-faced expression Rylen was more familiar with. “You’re dismissed, Knight-Captain.” 

“One more thing, ser.”

“What,” Cullen said, clearly irritated now.

“You appear to have sugar icing on your face. Unlike the Herald, I’m not going to wipe it off for you. Might I also suggest you take a few days of leave. You clearly need some time off if you don’t know what you were seconds away from doing.” 

Cullen waved his hand at the door. “Go away before I demote you for insubordination.”

Rylen held up the papers and saluted. “I’ll distribute these to the others.” 

As he left he noticed Cullen, lost in thought, reach up to the side of his mouth and idly scratch off the streak of icing there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, Sister Leliana ain't playing. Or, rather, she is. (This particular habit of hers will come back a time or two.) 
> 
> Can't make someone do what they're not inclined to, though.
> 
> But, in case the tags weren't warning enough, I take the term "slow burn" very literally. It only took 50,000 words for Ellana to realize she might have inconvenient emotions. Oh well. Wouldn't you like to know how many it's going to take for What's His Face to figure out his feelings?


	13. Fraternization

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassandra decides Ellana needs to learn a few more fighting skills and gets a soldier assigned to teach her how to handle a sword.
> 
> Ellana is thrilled by this development. Maybe it's not the Commander who she's obsessing over! Maybe she just want to meet a guy!
> 
> Or...maybe that's not quite it.

During their first day in the dark, wet, and depressing Fallow Mire, Ellana and her party spent most of their time battling waves of corpse archers. The sky was so dark all day they had to pick an arbitrary hour to decide when they were done before they headed back to Fisher’s End. The rest of the evening they spent huddled around a fire, discussing the perpetual twilight and damp of the zone. The interior of the building was cold and clammy, but there were two fireplaces—one for the party to sit by while eating their evening meal, and the other to dry every single bit of gear they had brought with them.

Cassandra put down her plate and brushed her hands clean in the air. “I have noticed something about your skills, Herald. You are fantastic with your bow. You have become very good at making quick analyses of a situation and directing others what to do—do we have Cullen to thank for that too, I wonder?”

Ellana snuck a glance at the Seeker, but Cassandra did not seem to be making an insinuation, just asking a question. She went back to staring at the plate of rice and vegetables Sera had cooked.

“This is all well and good,” Cassandra continued, “but whenever one of our enemies makes it within a certain proximity to you, your bow is useless and you can’t defend yourself.”

Sera scraped the serving spoon around the bottom of the cast iron pot. “What the scary lady’s trying to say is, you’re crap at fighting in tight quarters.”

At least the topic wasn’t the Commander. It was safe to look up. “You’re an archer, Sera. You are also crap when you’re cornered,” Ellana said.

“But no one’s coming direct for me, yeah?” Sera said.

 Cassandra, usually no fan of Sera’s summations, nodded. “If you are ever separated from the rest of us, it will be trivial for a warrior to kill you.”

“So stick close by my side,” Ellana told her.

“It would be better if you developed more skills with which to defend yourself,” Vivienne said. 

Cassandra said,“Absolutely. You need to learn how to fight with a blade.”

“Oh come on!” Ellana said. “I’m no swordsman and I don’t intend to try now.”

“You can and will,” Cassandra said.

“Where do you expect I’m going to hide a blade? Up my sleeve?” Ellana made a noise she thought worthy of Cassandra’s finest snorts. “What’s next? Perhaps I can learn how to cast ice spells like Madame de Fer here?”

Vivienne laughed. “I must agree with the Seeker. You may never be a swordsman of the first rank—”

“Of course not,” Ellana said. She was getting used to Vivienne’s underhanded digs.

“—But it is better for you to know something than what you have now, which is nothing.” 

Cassandra nodded. “Agreed. The Commander says you are extremely gifted with learning things.”

Ellana stared at the soot-covered hearth of the fireplace and thought, _Please don’t let my feelings be as obvious as I think they are._

In the single day since she had fled the Commander’s tent, suddenly aware of how intensely infatuated she was with him, Ellana had done a bang-up job of avoiding the man. When Cassandra had told her they needed to conference with the Commander about the missing soldiers, Ellana had ditched the meeting to spend the evening drinking with Bull and the Chargers at their camp. 

When Cassandra yelled at her for missing the planning session, Ellana said, “You’re just going to repeat everything to me anyhow. Might as well only hear it the once. Or, if I know you, the three hundred times.”

Better to annoy Cassandra than talk to the Commander with a permanent blush staining her cheeks.

The next morning at dawn, when the party saddled up their horses to begin the ride to the Mire, Ellana had deliberately spent her time talking to Blackwall about what he knew about the Avvar, rather than saying a word to the Commander. When they were ready to set out, the Commander stopped by her horse and looked up at her, completely oblivious to he possibility that anything might be wrong. 

“I look forward to reading your reports, Herald,” he said.

She almost snapped _Call me Lavellan_ at him, but managed to nod instead. 

It took a day to get to the Fallow Mire, and they spent the first night conferring with the soldiers stationed there about what the Inquisition was up against. The whole next day they had managed to push exactly one hundred yards beyond the limits of Fisher’s End camp before they were driven back into this building for the night. Where she was going to be alone with her thoughts until they set out again.

She didn’t want to think about him. She didn’t want to think about how stupid she was for becoming besotted with a man who had taken months simply to talk to her as though she were a person. 

“Well, learning how to use a sword just sounds like jolly fun on top of everything else I need to do,” Ellana said. “How exactly do you propose I start doing that?”

Cassandra shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll ask Cullen.”

Oh no, Ellana thought. _No, no, no._ She would not suffer more weeks of spending days and days with him. It had been bad enough when he had no regard for her and she had resented every second she had to stand next to him, taking his orders. Now, with the way she was aware of his stupid smile and the way his scar curled his lip and what he was like when he was in a good mood? 

She opened to mouth to argue strenuously with Cassandra about the plan when Cassandra cut her off.

“He’ll know who to assign to this task.”

Oh. That would be okay. Ellana didn’t want to upset _that_ plan.

“I want everyone to note I think this is a terrible idea,” Ellana said.

“That much is clear,” Cassandra said. “But nonetheless we shall persist.”

~ O ~

They spent two weeks in the Fallow Mire, clearing out corpses and battling the Avvar. Watching the Herald get sliced off from the group by the Avvar over and over had simply reinforced for Cassandra how important it was to teach her how to use one of these swords that was always lying around.

Immediately upon their return Cassandra found Cullen overseeing training drills with swords and shields out on the fields. The numbers of troops was large enough that they had to be split into several companies, she noticed. 

“Do you have any soldiers who are good at teaching basic swordsmanship?” she said.

Cullen chuckled. “Feeling a bit rusty, are we?” he asked.

“Not for me, you idiot. The absolute basics.”

He looked out at the drill instructors. “Well, there’s Knight-Captain Bailey—”

Cassandra grunted. She wasn’t fond of Bailey. He had a habit of staring directly at the asses of women walking by and making loud comments. The idea of him spending time with the Herald sounded like a very bad idea indeed for everyone involved. “No. Anyone else?” 

“Me, obviously.” 

Cassandra pursed her lips. “This plan is already causing me issues. Getting you involved might cause unnecessary stress. Anyone else?”

“What do you mean, unnecessary stress?” Cullen looked out the field, where Knight-Captains oversaw Knight-Lieutenants, who were working with squads or half-squads of soldiers on the drills. “Lieutenant Aethelstan seems to be quite good at teaching the basics.”

“Could you spare him every day?”

“Not all day every day. I am trying to run an army here, Cassandra. Who’s this for?”

“Two hours a day should suffice.”

“Who. Is. This. For.” His tone brooked no argument.

Cassandra shrugged. “The Herald.” 

Cullen looked at her, alarmed. “What happened?”

“Nothing. Yet. But she needs to learn how to use a blade for close quarters. As she gets better known, everyone in a fight goes right for her. We got into some bad situations in the Fallow Mire, especially while fighting the Hand of Korth when I thought…” She shook her head. “One of these times someone will get too close for her to use her bow and… She’s arrogant. Needs to realize she doesn’t know everything. Introduce me to this Aethelstan.”

He began to scratch his chin. “Wait a second. Let me think about this for a moment.” 

“They’re not getting married, Cullen.”

“I certainly hope not. Maker, can you imagine her being married to someone? Poor man. No, I’m mostly worried about whether Aethelstan can get the Herald to listen to him. She can be somewhat strong-willed, as you say.”

Cassandra laughed. “Yes. Someone who can teach her the basics of how to use a sword and not take any backtalk. After that teach her the basics of using a shield, if necessary. I’d ask the Iron Bull to do it, but in my opinion the Chargers value rushing into a situation over finesse.” 

Cullen nodded. “Agreed. All right. I’ll see about rearranging his other duties. The Herald had better do her part and not waste his time.”

Cassandra said she would make sure the Herald understood what was going to happen.

~ O ~

Ellana resented everything about the idea of her taking sword lessons, mostly starting with the idea that once again she was being flung around like she was some kind of rag doll, told where to go and what to do and who to listen to.

Cassandra accompanied her to the training ring—possibly doubting she would actually go to her lesson. “The Commander assigned him. You will be polite and you will listen.”

When Ellana saw the young man waiting at the training ring, she thanked Mythal for her small mercies and wondered what she had done right with her life for once. He was so good-looking Ellana suspected him of having a bit of elf blood in him. But unlike any elves in her clan, he was taller than she was. He was also muscular as well as lithe. His skin was a gorgeous shade of light brown and his eyes an arresting dark brown. His hair was short and black, and his mouth was…well, beautiful.

 Maybe the Commander did care about her feelings, wherever he might keep his buried, if he was so kind and thoughtful as to assign this soldier to be her teacher.

“No problem at all,” she told Cassandra. “I will absolutely behave myself.”

Better yet, for the first time in two weeks she found it easy to keep her mind off the Commander.

The lieutenant wore clothes loose and comfortable enough for a good training workout, but he straightened into a soldier when Cassandra entered the ring ahead of Ellana. He saluted the Seeker and did not look at the Herald.

“Lieutenant Aethelstan?” Cassandra said.

He said, “Yes, ser.” 

“This is the Herald. You are to give her basic training in using a sword.” 

He nodded at Ellana. “The Commander told me. Just the sword? Usually we teach sword with the shield.”

Cassandra clapped him on the shoulder. His incredibly well-defined shoulder. Ellana was suddenly very envious of Cassandra’s hand. “I agree, Lieutenant. But we’re not turning the Herald into an expert warrior. We simply need her to be able to defend herself at close quarters.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“Take her through the basics, let’s find out what she knows,” Cassandra said. She stopped by Ellana’s side. “Try to listen and learn something.”

Not a problem, Ellana thought. She waited until Cassandra was several yards away before giving the young lieutenant a shy smile. “Lieutenant Aethelstan,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am. Miss. Ser,” he said.

She grinned. “That’s quite a mouthful. “Do you have a first name?”

He smiled. Oh, Mythal, he had a nice smile. “It’s Serge.”

“My name is Ellana. Please call me by my name.”

“The Commander said under no circumstances am I to call you by anything other than ‘the Herald,’” Aethelstan said. “He also said I must insist you only ever refer to me as Lieutenant Aethelstan.”

When she was staring this gorgeous man, why was she imagining saying, _If you insist, Commander_? She coughed to cover up her embarrassment. “I bet he did. Well, where do we begin, Lieutenant?”

“Do you know anything about blades?”

She shook her head. “Not other than my hunting knife.”

“Well, that’s not nothing. But swords are differently balanced, require different muscles. We’ll start with something a little less sharp though.” He pulled a wooden practice sword off the rack that hung on the side of the ring’s fence. He jostled it in his hand, feeling the weight, and then exchanged it for a lighter one. “Here you go.”

Ellana grabbed the pommel of the sword. “It’s light.”

“Swords can’t be too heavy, or you can’t swing them for very long. In the middle of a battle, you need to be able to fight for a while. After some training and getting used to the feel of it, we can move to a larger blade.”

She hefted the sword in her hand. “Well. Where do we begin?”

Aethelstan grinned. “Let’s start with how you hold on to it.” He put his hands on her grip on the hilt. He had warm fingers. “If you hold it that tight, you’d choke off the…” He stopped talking and his eyes widened.

Clearly there was language he used with other soldiers he had decided against using with the Herald. She laughed. “Lieutenant. You may not have noticed, but I’m a Dalish elf.” She leaned close. “Trust me, I’ve heard all those words before. Used in lots of ways. If you have a standard way of describing this, just go ahead and pretend I’m one of the scrubs out there.”

Aethelstan’s light brown face became slightly pinker. “Yes. But—”

“I won’t tell him if you don’t, Lieutenant.” 

Aethelstan gazed at her for a moment. “Well. All right.” 

They met every day, for two hours. The young lieutenant was a good teacher, if somewhat more hesitant than the Commander—

_Don’t think about him._

—Who sometimes came by to watch how the lessons were progressing. 

_Ignore him. He’s not there._

Aethelstan was patient, sometimes to the point of not wanting to correcting as firmly as he could have. In her head, when Aethelstan led her through the basic forms of swordplay, she heard the Commander’s voice overwriting the lieutenant’s words: _Not like that, you imbecile. Lunge to the side. You’re going to get sliced in half doing it that way._

She preferred Aethelstan’s teaching methods. Even if he did keep censoring the racier aspects of how to handle a sword.

The first week she was painfully aware of where the Commander was in relation to the training circle. Usually he was nearby in his tent—probably doing letters, she thought—or out in the field supervising the morning drills. Every so often he stopped by to watch them for a few minutes, and not surprisingly that was always the time she completely forgot what she was doing.

During the second week she did better at putting the Commander out of her thoughts and concentrating more on what Aethelstan was trying to teach her. It helped a lot that Aethelstan was, in addition to being stupidly gorgeous, a really nice person. He had a very sweet smile. His lessons were very clear and simple. He didn’t treat her like she was just another soldier, but he also didn’t treat her as though she were a damsel who couldn’t handle herself.

His descriptions of what to do with that sword got progressively raunchier, which Ellana appreciated—she didn’t see it as flirtation, she saw it as him treating her like a person.

It was so very nice to be treated as a person. Maybe eventually she could get someone to treat her like a woman.

They talked some, mostly about where he was from: a small town in the northern regions of Nevarra. They discussed how stupidly cold it was here and the differences they noticed between the food in the north and here in the south. He talked about his family. How he had ended up in the Inquisition army.

She liked Serge Aethelstan of northern Nevarra very much.

At the end of the second week of her lessons, Aethelstan laughed. “Well, I’m glad whatever you had on your mind is gone. You’re paying better attention now.”

She looked up through her eyelashes and grinned at him. “Well, now I have something I’m really interested in paying attention to.”

Aethelstan’s smile slowly faded off his face as he got her meaning. He looked mildly terrified. He swayed slightly where he stood, as though he were hypnotized by one of those Tevinter cobras she had heard rumors about.

She could kiss him right now, she realized. Not a passionate kiss, although she had the sense a small kiss would lead to something larger very quickly. She should give him a light peck, maybe on the cheek, to let him know she was feeling the same way he was. 

Someone behind her cleared his throat.

The shadow that crossed Aethelstan’s face and the way the young man snapped to attention were all the signs she needed to know who was right behind her, but she turned around anyway. 

The Commander stood there, looking very displeased indeed.

And suddenly Ellana was well aware that no matter how sincerely wonderful young Lieutenant Aethelstan was, she didn’t have half the interest in him that she had for the Commander. She wanted the attention of the man watching them, and she wanted it very badly indeed. She was using Aethelstan to see if she could make him jealous.

 _What a stupid girl you are_ , she told herself. She still had the tiniest spark of hope inside her that he was jealous of the attention she was getting from Aethelstan, despite never having had any sort of indication from the man himself that he wanted her.

All the look on his face indicated was that he was annoyed with her. Not jealous. 

“Lieutenant. Herald,” he said.

“Ser,” Aethelstan said.

“Please wait for me in my tent, Lieutenant. I need to have a word with the Herald and then I am going to talk to you.”

Aethelstan saluted and immediately left the ring. 

The Dread Wolf take all of these damned interfering _shemlen_ , Ellana thought. Why was he doing this? Why now?

“Fancy meeting you here, Commander.” 

He did not look amused.

She returned her wooden practice sword to the rack. “What do you want? If I’m not training here, I need to get back into town.”

“I need to speak with you,” he said.

“Well, you have my undivided attention now, Commander. Having chased off anyone I might want to spend time with.” She glanced down before he could see how badly she was lying.

~ O ~

Cullen had kept an eye on the Herald’s training with Aethelstan. During their weeks working together, the Herald had definitely picked up the basic forms of holding the sword, balancing her body so she couldn’t be knocked off kilter too easily, and she thrust past blocks instead of making the mistake every beginner made of trying to slash at them. Swords weren’t meant to be graceful, they were meant to cut through things. She had a long way to go before she was proficient, but as he had guessed, she was a very good student of the art. She was better than several of the recruits who had more intensive training daily.

But she had reached the limits of whatever Aethelstan could teach her. Today he watched the two of them spend more time talking than practicing the forms. That wasn’t good. The way the Herald kept twisting away from him, almost like she wanted him to chase her. And Aethelstan stared at her, looking somewhat stunned, more like a boy than a lieutenant in the army. Extremely not good.

Cullen squinted. He did not need the lieutenant pining after the Herald.

He did not need the Herald angling to make the lieutenant pine after her.

Before he could do anything, though, Leliana walked toward him, a sheaf of letters in her hand, but she watched the Herald’s training session. She wore her beatific smile, an expression always caused him worry.

“Aren’t they beautiful together? To be so young and…passionate. Thank you for picking Lieutenant Aethelstan. Couldn’t have done better myself.”

Leliana never said anything without an ulterior motive, he thought. “What are you talking about, Sister?”

“Do you not remember what being in love looks like, Commander?” 

Love? That seemed a little over the top, he thought. They were…flirting, perhaps. He was pretty sure that was flirtation. It made him uncomfortable, whatever it was. “I certainly hope they’re not.”

“Well, on that we differ,” Leliana said. “There’s little I want more than the Herald becoming romantically entangled with someone here in Haven. Preferably someone tied to the Inquisition. Like the young man there.”

Given what he had just observed of the two in the training ring, he suspected Leliana knew something he didn’t. “What do you mean, you’re hoping for it?”

“Our lovely young Dalish elf has been exceptionally sympathetic to our requests and to our needs. But she wants to return to the Free Marches, to her clan, the minute she sees an opportunity.”

He remembered the conversation he and the Herald had had months ago, in his tent, when he asked her if she wanted to go home. He doubted she felt any differently now. “It’s understandable if she does,” Cullen said. 

“As far as we know, she has no sweetheart waiting for her with her clan. We need her to remain here in Haven, with the Inquisition. If an emotional attachment increases the likelihood of her staying put, with us, we would be fools not to encourage it.”

Cullen stared at Leliana and her calm, knowing expression. He had few illusions about Sister Nightingale and what she was willing to do, but he was nevertheless mildly shocked at the brazenness of wanting to use people’s emotions to make them do what she wanted. 

“The Herald having an emotional attachment to one of my soldiers creates a problem for _me_ , however,” he said. 

One delicate red eyebrow rose. “Oh? How’s that, Commander?”

He sighed. Loudly. Theatrically. First Rylen’s joking comments about the Herald having a crush on him, now Leliana’s insincere curiosity about his interest in the Herald’s love life. Sister Nightingale was many things, but “subtle” was not on the list. “I wish you had come to me with your little plan. I would have pointed you to several people in town much better suited for your grand scheme.” 

“Pardon me for saying so, Commander, but you’re not the first person I would consult for relationship advice.”

Well…she had a point. But still. She could not use one of his soldiers to achieve her ends. “I’m not talking about relationships, Sister Nightingale. Fraternization can destroy a military force. Now I get to be the villain and break the two of them up. Thank you ever so much.”

“She’s not in the army, Commander,” Leliana said.

“Everyone in the Inquisition is in the Army as far as I’m concerned, Sister. If you’ll excuse me.” 

He went over and sent Aethelstan to wait in his tent and told the Herald he needed to talk to her. When she said he had chased off someone he wanted to talk to, he understood she was lashing out at him, but Maker’s patience, he didn’t have time to treat her like a child. He had to talk to her like she was a thinking, rational adult.

As they walked back toward the town, she waved and smiled at the people who called out to her. They shut down completely and turned away when they looked at him beside her. These people had really come to love having her here. No, they loved her. Him, they feared.

Just as well, actually. He was a Commander, not a politician. He wasn’t doing this to be loved.

He looked over at her. “How have you been doing in general, Herald?” He cleared his throat. “Lavellan.”

“You mean, other than being isolated and alone? Just fine.”

Maker, she was angry at him. “I meant, in terms of how you are getting on with your missions and Inquisition business.” 

She shook her head. “I must be about to get a very stern talking to,” she said.

“Why do you say that?” 

“Because you’re trying to make idle conversation with me the way you did six months ago, when we barely spoke at all. Let’s get it over with. What do you want?” 

“All right. Your lessons with Lieutenant Aethelstan must come to an end.”

She stopped and gaped at him. “Why? I’ve been doing quite well. I’ve learned a tremendous amount. I don’t know if you’ve paid attention, but I’m quite good, actually.”

He nodded. “You are. Impressive, particularly for someone who started just a short time ago.”

She smiled, for a moment, and he thought about how nice she looked when her mood lightened. But then she went back to scowling at him. “Then why—”

“Do you know what fraternization is?”

She stared at him for a few moments, then looked down at the ground. She cleared her throat and then looked back at him. He wondered if she would scream at him for interfering in her affairs. _Affairs._ Well, it hadn’t reached that point yet, unless he had missed something. Maybe some of the reports he had read had been extremely subtle—

Instead she asked, “What does that mean?”

He blinked. “What does what mean?”

“What does ‘fraternization’ mean?” she asked. “That’s one of those _shem_ words that sounds like something mighty and important but actually means something much simpler, right?” She shook her head. “No, that’s ‘fornication’. What does fraternization mean?”

 _Oh Maker, why me_ , Cullen thought. “Fraternization is when people in an organization spend a lot of time together and they form bonds that could prove detrimental to that organization,” he said. 

Lavellan nodded, considering that. “So, a fancy word for fornication,” she said.

“I worry,” he said, ignoring her response, “if you show too much favor to one of the soldiers, this will cause problems with the others.”

“Like jealousy,” she said.

“Jealousy, fighting, rumors. Young men can act somewhat stupid around young women. Particularly ones they want to impress.”

“You mean me?” 

“I do,” he said.

“By other soldiers, do you mean you?”

Oh, how like her to attempt to change the subject by being irritating. “What? No. Why do you ask that?” 

She laughed. “It’s but an idle question, Commander.”

They walked through the gates of the town, and he mechanically returned the salutes he was given. He wasn’t even sure Lavellan was even still aware he was there, she seemed so distracted. So he pressed on.

“Unit cohesion is very important to morale. You, of course, are integral to the Inquisition and what we’re doing here. If you show favor to one man over another, it could destroy the camaraderie in an instant.” 

“Or woman,” she said.

“Yes, of course,” he said. Had he seen her with any women, excepting Cassandra and Sera? He didn’t think so. Of course, he didn’t keep track of Lavellan’s attachments—except that was a lie, when he thought about it. He didn’t have to keep track of them because she didn’t have any. Not one of the reports he had read about her mentioned romance with anyone, woman or man, even while traveling on the road.

They reached the town square before she asked, “Who does that leave you with? If you can’t fraternize anyone in the army.”

“Fraternize _with_ ,” he corrected her.

“You’re the Commander. These rules must apply double to someone in command.”

Maker’s breath, what a comment for her to make. “There are no exceptions to the fraternization policy, within the army, ever,” he said.

“Ever,” she said. “Interesting. Must be a very difficult life for you.” 

Was it? He had lived this way for so long he didn’t even think about it any more. “Lavellan, this is not about me. It’s about you.”

“And your soldiers.”

“Yes,” he said. 

She leaned toward him, and he sucked in his breath, remembering that day in the woods when he had been sure she was going to kiss him. And then that day in his tent when— Was Rylen was on to something? Did he _want_ Rylen to be right? Her lips turned up in a mocking smile. “You do realize I’m not in your army, Commander,” she said.

How funny she mentioned that small detail, same as Leliana had. It was a good thing for her she wasn’t under his command, because if she were, he would have set up a special jail cell set up for her because of how often she was insubordinate. “No, I can’t order you to do this. I can’t order you to do anything. I am simply requesting you avoid entanglements with soldiers and to that end I am cancelling your sessions with Aethelstan. We have enough problems forming a cohesive army. I am asking you to aid me in avoiding a problem with fraternization. If such a situation does arise, we will discuss it at the War Table. And I will mention we spoke and you proceeded to make an issue of it.”

“What if I want to continue learning the sword?”

“Then I will teach you.”

She burst into a series of giggles so severe she hid her face behind her hand.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Just trying to imagine you using some of the terminology and analogies Lieutenant Aethelstan did.” She pinched her lips together. “No, I need to stop picturing that, immediately, for my own sanity.”

He made a mental note to ask Aethelstan exactly what language he had used while teaching the Herald. “There are plenty of men around for you, Lavellan. Leave the ones in the army alone.”

“Including you?” she asked.

That was the second time she had asked about him, and he doubted it was a mistake. Especially given the raised eyebrow and amused look on her face. He thought back to what Leliana had said to him about Lavellan when they had watched her in the training ring. What the spymaster been saying to Lavellan about him? Well, whatever nonsense Leliana had dripped in the Herald’s ear, this time he didn’t misunderstand her. At all. He remained absolutely stone-faced. “Yes. Including me.” Just when he thought they were getting along better, she once again morphed into the irritating brat he had first met months ago. “Is there a problem you have with me, Lavellan? Is there something we need to discuss?”

She laughed. “This is just so easy for you, isn’t it, Commander? You don’t even need to do anything and women chase you everywhere. I find one man who treats me well and immediately I have to stop talking to him. Because you don’t like it.”

“This is not about me.”

She leaned just the tiniest bit toward him. “Did you know you’re blushing, Commander? It’s really quite attractive.”

He cleared his throat and took a step back from her. He had no idea what had got into her, but he wasn’t going to pursue the matter either. “Let me know if you want to continue studying,” he said, and he headed back toward the military camp.

~ O ~

From a distance, Leliana watched Cullen and Ellana talk to one another. Ellana had her arms crossed over her chest and wore a sullen pout. Cullen was undoubtedly using his Commander voice to inform her of every single thing she had done wrong in her life. She couldn’t hear them from where she stood, but the conversation looked uncomfortable, with the Herald wearing a sly look and Cullen looking both very stern and very red in the face at the same time.

 _Perfect_ , she thought.

Cassandra strode up alongside her. “What’s he upset about now? Maker’s grave. Getting those two to work together has been nothing but a disaster.”

“You and I have _very_ different standards for disaster,” Leliana said, letting her amusement trill off her tongue.

Cassandra grunted. “ _Eccch._ I hoped Ellana might learn a thing or two on how to defend herself, you hoped the young lieutenant might fall in love with her, and all we are left with is Cullen angry at everyone. Again. So. Your romantic gambit for the Herald seems to have ended in more problems for all of us.” 

Leliana grinned at her. “You thought I had my hopes for the match pinned on that comely lieutenant.” 

Cassandra’s eyes widened as she looked from Leliana toward Cullen and Ellana and then back. “Those two? You’re dreaming.”

“Am I?” Leliana asked. “It might be hard to imagine—but not impossible. And it’s a lot closer than it was this morning. Look at him. His body is squared directly toward her, not angled away, as he usually does with a woman who’s leaning toward him. I can tell from the look on her face she’s being bratty and coquettish, and instead of ignoring that like he usually does, he’s engaging, staring her in the eye. He may not know how to counter it, but some part of him knows he’s supposed to. He just doesn’t want to.” She looked at Cassandra. “If wagering were allowed by the Chantry, I’d wager we had a fortnight tops before those two are passionately in love. Well, before he gets there. She already is.” 

 The look of disgust on Cassandra’s face only made this entire exercise that much more fulfilling, Leliana thought. “You can’t play with people that way, Leliana. Especially not Cullen. You know what he’s been through.”

Leliana nodded. “Of course I know. I know a damned sight better than you about what happened to him, Cassandra. I was at Kinloch Hold, remember? I’m the one who found him in that cage seven days after the siege began. He’s kept himself in that cage for the last ten years, and who better to help him out than a woman who is not in the slightest bit concerned with what we do and don’t consider proper.”

They stared at one another for a few moments. 

Cassandra looked away first. She always did. “You’re insane.”

“Is it insane to be interested in everyone’s happiness, Cassandra? Why do you never understand that about me?” Leliana listened to the Seeker mutter for a few moments before deciding she had heard enough of Cassandra’s professed disapproval. She waved the letters she still had in her hand. “Oh, if you see Tethras, could you send him by my office? I received a dispatch I’m hoping means what I think it means.”

“You found Hawke?”

“Possibly. I’m certainly praying I have.”

The Seeker grunted. “If I see him.” She walked off.

Leliana waited until she heard Cassandra’s footsteps get quiet enough before she allowed herself to grin even harder. She didn’t have a letter to discuss with Varric.

She just wanted to put the idea in Cassandra’s mind to start looking for him.

~ O ~

Cullen ended the next officers’ meeting by making it absolutely clear the Herald was off-limits to everyone in the military, no matter the rank and no matter how she behaved toward them. 

“She isn’t in the army and she isn’t required to follow our code of conduct. We do. Do I need to go over these rules with your soldiers or do you think you can handle the responsibility of making sure they understand them?”

All the Knight-Captains and Knight-Lieutenants said they would handle it. 

He dismissed the meeting and tilted his head to the side, cracking three vertebrae in his neck. Talking about the Herald always tensed up some part of his body.

Knight-Captain Rylen, the last one to leave, stopped in the doorway of the officers’ meeting room.

“Just to be clear, is it everyone in the army, or just those of us below the rank of Commander?” Rylen asked, with an air of innocence.

Cullen glared at the Knight-Captain until he realized his friend was teasing him again. He balled up a piece of paper and threw it at Rylen. “Get the fuck out of here with this fairy tale you keep spinning. Do you need a weekend pass to Gherlen’s Town, man?”

Rylen laughed. “You mean, for…”

Cullen nodded. He didn’t think much of what the officers, usually the men, did while on their weekend passes, but he realized the utility of them.

Rylen shook his head. “I’m not sure which is worse. That you don’t know Elisabetta would kill me if I did any such thing, or that you don’t know what’s going on right here, in this very town.”

Cullen picked up his paperwork off the table. “What do you mean?” 

“The girls are here, Rutherford. In Haven. Haven’t you noticed?”

Girls? Did Rylen mean prostitutes were moving to Haven? “Are you serious?”

Rylen laughed. “Andraste’s nightie, you’re so blessedly oblivious to things.” He sighed. “So many things.”

“I don’t really concern myself with anything I don’t have to, Rylen. It’s called ‘focus’ and you might want to develop the skill. Prostitutes have moved in? Really? Chancellor Roderick must be absolutely delighted about that development.” 

“Take a walk toward the southern trebuchet line some time and pay attention to the buildings popping up there. And don’t be an arsehole to any of the soldiers you might see there. If you can possibly avoid being an arsehole for ten seconds. I know it’ll be rough for you not to be, but muster on through.”

Cullen had been around the military—particularly men in the military—long enough that he wasn’t shocked that the Inquisition’s army had attracted camp followers. “I’ll pass on that delight, thanks. But.” He coughed. “That will undoubtedly keep some of the recruits happy.”

The Knight-Captain laughed. “Especially when so many of the girls are elves.”

Cullen dropped the papers he had been shuffling. “What?”

“This little talk today is going to make some of the new girls in town exceptionally popular.” Rylen stared at him. “Maker’s patience, you didn’t know about any of this. Honestly?” 

“Trust me, Rylen, I believe you—”

“Come. With. Me. Commander,” the Knight-Captain said. “You need to inspect the southern trebuchet emplacement anyhow. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that dropping to the bottom of your To Do list every week.” 

Theoretically he had letters to write, but that would take hours whether he started now or later—both of the scribes Josephine had sent to work with him had been remarkably terrible at simply writing down what he said. The man and the woman had each spent too much of their time trying to talk to him and not enough writing. He wished he could ask the Herald to write the letters for him again, but since that day she had avoided him whenever possible and her tone was curt when she couldn’t. When he did speak to her, he kept noticing that she was much prettier than he had originally thought—and then found himself wondering what kind of ideas Rylen had put in his head. 

Thinking about that, together with Leliana’s scheming to get the Herald romantically involved with someone, gave him a headache. 

Like he needed help getting headaches these days. A walk would do him some good.

“All right,” he said.

When they walked out of the town, he studied the area. Cabins had sprung up like mushrooms on the field along the southern road out of town. The town line had spread even further from the gates and gotten dangerously close to the trebuchets, which had been placed far away from any building when he had first chosen to place the weapons. The undergarments on the lines outside made it clear which houses the prostitutes lived in. 

“Most of the girls are human,” Rylen said. “Two dwarves, I think. But there are quite a few elves. City elves, primarily, from Amaranthine or Denerim. They paint tattoos on their faces with henna or ink.”

“To make them look like…”

“Yes,” said the Knight-Captain, nodding his head. “He gets the picture.” 

“Wish I didn’t. Maker’s breath, I had no idea.” 

“Why should you, when you get to spend so much time with the real thing?” Rylen asked.

Cullen snorted.

“I’m absolutely serious, Rutherford. Half the men think your order is inspired by some ulterior motive on your part. The exact phrase I heard walking out was ‘pissing in a circle around her’.”

“And where did they get that idea from, Rylen?”

The Knight-Captain shook his head. “I’m not the only one out there who’s noticed how bizarrely attentive you are to her. You may be oblivious to her charms, but there are many, many who aren’t and suspect you’re as susceptible as they are.”

Oblivious? No, he wouldn’t say _oblivious_. There was simply no point in wasting any of what energy he did have on a woman who was not available to him. On any woman, not just the Herald. Every time he felt any sort of romantic or sexual stirring for someone, he was right back in Kinloch Hold, being tortured by desire demons, determined to destroy every last vestige of his sanity.

He heard the Herald’s mocking voice again: _Does that include you?_

No. Fools rushing into romance absolutely did not include him. And he liked it that way. Being alone had served him quite well, in Kirkwall and in Haven.

Cullen raised an eyebrow at Rylen. “Oh, really? I wonder if you’re not a little obsessed with her yourself.”

Rylen laughed. “Ha! No. Not me. All that would gain me is getting run through by your sword. No, first I’d be run through by Elisabetta’s knitting needles, then your sword.” He shook his head. “No, not me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am keeping a running list of the various grunts Cassandra makes.
> 
> And don't worry, somebody is going to figure out Real Soon Now that certain emotions cannot be ignored forever.


	14. Cullen falls in love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A ton of bricks finally falls on the Commander's consciousness, at least in regards to his favorite Herald. He is really not able to deal with it. Poor man.

When the sun hit the tops of the trees on the western horizon, Cullen called an end to the day’s training. As Cassandra was always said, an army could not be built in a week.

Or several months.

He sighed.

They were doing better. Certainly they were bigger: they had moved most of the army outside of Haven, because there were too many soldiers now. Had they really passed the eight hundred mark? That was quite something, especially given where they had started a year before.

He needed to promote some more of the Lieutenants to Captain, to create a larger chain of command and train some of these officers better. 

As he walked off the field to head back to town, most of the recruits passed him on their way to the mess tent for whatever hot meal the cooks had managed to put together. Many of them walked with their shoulders hunched over, rubbing their forearms or trying to shake kinks out of their legs. Some simply headed back to their tents to fall down, exhausted. 

And then there were the young men who had enough energy to race off the field and head south, past the stables and blacksmith. Most of them had bows in their hands. His archers, by the looks of it.

Cassandra finished talking to Knight-Captain Harrington and walked over to Cullen, who watched the archers run by. 

“Someone didn’t work hard enough today,” he said to Cassandra, nodding at the archers.

She snorted at him. “Young men always have energy for certain things, Cullen. Surely you must remember what that’s like.”

“I was never that young,” he said.

Cassandra clapped him on the back. “Oh, please. How old are you, Rutherford? You talk as if you’re ancient.”

Maker’s breath, how old was he now? Thirty. He felt a lot older. He supposed he didn’t have much idea how thirty was supposed to feel, but he certainly didn’t feel like running off to…

Oh. Right. The young men headed toward the southern side of the town outside the walls. The prostitutes. He shook his head. Since Rylen had taken him by that area, it looked as though twice as many cabins had sprung up. 

“Ach, Cullen. You should see the color of your face right now. No, they’re not headed to the alley of the whores. Well…some of them may be. But don’t you know what else is out that way? Come on.” 

Cullen hadn’t taken a tour of the outside of Haven recently—he had too many other things on his plate to deal with, and since he didn’t need to manage the town, he paid no attention to it. Every time he turned around Haven had a new group of buildings, a new influx of residents. If there was an attack, everyone would come inside the walls, but day to day there was no space left within Haven itself. 

They walked down the main road that made a ring around the town walls. The snow on the road had been cleared in the morning by a pack of work horses dragging a plow, but another light dusting had fallen during the day and their boots crunched as they walked. The blacksmith called out as they passed and Cassandra raised a hand in greeting. As some townspeople passed by, they saluted or curtseyed. Cullen tried to acknowledge them, but mostly he was focused on how astonishingly large the settlement had become. How many columns of smoke rose above the tarpaper roofs now. This was much more dense then the last time he had walked through here, with Rylen, weeks ago. Or had that been months?

“The Inquisition has grown quite a bit, Cullen,” Cassandra said. 

“I know. But every time I come out here… It’s simply astonishing,” he said. “How are we getting enough supplies in here to feed these people?”

“It isn’t easy. Josephine is a miracle worker. She negotiates with the merchants to get their prices from cut-throat down to merely outrageous. We’re also doing good trade with of the farms on the border between Orlais and Ferelden. Thank goodness for the Herald. The farmers tend to be very grateful when she dispatches the rifts full of demons that have been eating their cows and destroying their crops.”

The Herald. He still thought of her as _Lavellan_. Almost his personal nickname for her. Since the day he explained fraternization to her, she had done as he had asked and avoided spending unnecessary time with any of the soldiers. She had also kept her distance from him, which made Rylen’s incessant teasing all the more obnoxious. One time he had stopped to talk to Lavellan as he was walking into Haven and she out of it, and Rylen had quipped, “At it again, I see,” as he passed by. Lavellan had glared at Rylen until the Knight-Captain excused himself. And then she had looked at Cullen for an explanation.

 _Oh, the Knight-Captain thinks I’m infatuated with you, which you must agree is hilarious, given that you and I hardly ever speak._  

Instead, he had shrugged and finished what he had been saying.

Cassandra turned down one dirt road that hadn’t even been carved out when Rylen had taken Cullen down this way. Shacks lined both sides of the road, and women lolled outside most of them. The most brightly adorned of them had heavily painted eyes and lips. Her bright red curls tumbled around her face and over the shelf of her enormous breasts, which strained out of the top of her faded red one-piece lingerie garment with ripped lace and a torn shoulder strap. From the looks of it, the lingerie was older than she was: if Cullen didn’t miss his guess, she couldn’t be more than sixteen.

He hoped she was at least sixteen.

“Commander!” she sang out. “Fancy seeing you here.”

He and Cassandra didn’t break their step. He didn’t know where Cassandra was leading him, but it wasn’t for this.

Another woman popped out of the door of a shack further down. Her face also painted, her blouse open. A baby suckled at her breast.

A pair of heads peered out of yet another building. He refused to even glance their way, but in his peripheral vision they appeared to be twins.

Evidently the word “Commander” brought everyone out. Lovely.

The young woman in red fiddled with the scalloped edge of her bodice, as if trying to fix something—and then she dashed into the road, stopping just in front of them. She was incredibly well-endowed and it was a miracle her garment held in place as she ran. Up close he could see her eyes were a little harder than he had thought. Maybe she was eighteen.

“There’d never be any charge for a man as fine as you, Commander,” the young woman said, the top of her finger tracing the torn lace over her breasts.

He wasn’t tempted in the slightest, and not just because he had Cassandra there with him. He knew he didn’t react to offers of sex the way most men did, and he no longer cared. Not having a connection with another person made it easier to concentrate on his responsibilities, he guessed.

“Move,” he said. He could hear it in his own voice: he wasn’t even disgusted by her offer. He was just weary, from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.

The prostitute tilted her head and grinned up at him slyly. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be more than happy to take care of both of you,” she purred.

“Move,” Cassandra snapped, much more loudly. Far more annoyed. Her voice carried over the entire area, and doors up and down the row slammed shut.

Sometimes Cullen thought Cassandra should be the one training the recruits full time, with that voice of hers.

The prostitute rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. You’re off to see _her_.”

Cullen had no idea where he was going, let alone to whom. “I’ll ask one more time for you to move out of our way, and then you’re going to the town magistrate,” he said.

The prostitute blew the both of them a kiss and then swayed back to her post outside her shack. “Heard you prefer boys anyhow!” she called.

No, Cullen thought. He often wondered why he wasn’t more attracted to women, but he never wondered why he wasn’t attracted to men. It was good to know a little something about what was going on in his own head, he supposed.

He and Cassandra had already resumed their path down the street. After the last hut, he said, “Is there a reason you wanted to take me on the scenic tour of Haven’s outskirts?” 

“I had no idea anyone would dare do such a thing. They’ve never given me any trouble when I walk through there.”

“No one with any sense would,” he said. 

“ _This_ is why I brought you here,” she said.

The field beyond the last building was set off by a fence probably used to keep in grazing animals during the warmer months. Now, though, the pasture had four crude archery target circles set up at one end. What had to be every child in Haven milling about, tramping the snow into a field of mud.

In addition to every child, there was also quite possibly every Inquisition archer,  plus Varric Tethras and that strange elf Sera. And, of course, Lavellan.

Lavellan stood in the center of the field, the children gathered around her. “Line up! We’re going to practice that, every one of you. Now, stop pushing. Everyone’s going to get a turn, all right? Little ones in front.”

Varric and Sera tried their best to sort the children into some kind of order, while Lavellan pointed to various stations. Then she whirled around.

“Sera! Language!” Lavellan yelled.

“I’m using the Common!” the city elf yelled back.

“Yes, precisely,” Lavellan said. “These are children.”

“Most of the words I know I learned when I was a bitty thing,” Sera said.

“Sera!” Lavellan and Varric yelled simultaneously.

The children laughed and poked at one another and jumped up and down to get Lavellan’s attention. She packed them into lines and ruffled hair and spoke gently to the littlest ones, who were excited to be near her.

Cullen was stunned. He had no idea anything like this was going on. That Lavellan had organized it. That so many of the town’s children were so eager to spend time with her.

Cassandra put her arm on his elbow, thinking his surprise move backward was an indication he was leaving. “I only found out about this the other day. I had no idea she working with the children like this.” 

One of the older boys who organizing the younger ones into groups saw Cassandra and Cullen approaching. He said something to another teen, who turned to look. 

Within seconds everyone standing on the field had stopped fussing and pushing and were standing absolutely stock still.

“Well, how wonderful,” Lavellan said, and she broke out into a wide smile. “We have guests today. So I want everyone to do their absolute best, yes?”

One little boy stared fearfully at Cullen and Cassandra. Then he tugged on Lavellan’s vest and said something up at her.

“Oh, don’t worry, sweetie.” She ran her fingers through the boy’s hair. “That’s not going to happen.” She looked over at the Commander and the Seeker. “Will it?” she asked.

Cullen guessed the boy was worried the Commander might put him in a stew for supper. He leaned against the fence at the edge of the pasture. “Please, carry on,” he said. 

Lavellan guided everyone to take their places and she demonstrated one of the easier moves with a bow. Then she, together with Varric and Sera, helped the little ones mimic the movement. Most of their attempts were pitiful, although the older children came much closer to the targets 

“Oh, you can learn this.” She pointed to one of the archers who were lounging by the fence. “You there! Were you born knowing how to do this?”

The one she pointed to, a cocky young man with light brown hair by the name of Frewer, shook his head. “Come here, then. Show them that someone who wasn’t born knowing how to do this can do it.”

The archer jogged over to Lavellan’s side. It was easy to see how he kept his body oriented toward her. She was the center of his attention, she was the center of gravity and he was trapped in her orbit. They said a few words to one another and Frewer burst out in a large smile before raising his bow and letting loose with the shot Lavellan had just demonstrated.

“Where’s that sort of enthusiasm during our drills?” he asked Cassandra quietly.

“You don’t look as good in form-fitting trousers,” she responded.

That response made him smile, but it also made him uncomfortably aware that the archers were there for Lavellan for reasons beyond teaching the children. 

The young men, who wanted to show off for an attractive woman.

And Lavellan, who was clearly an attractive enough young woman.

He looked at her again and wondered when exactly he had started lying to himself with such ease.

She wasn’t attractive. Who in Thedas would use a milquetoast word like _attractive_ to describe her?

She was gorgeous. All of her.

Her face.

Her body.

Her confidence and her ease.

Lavellan, wearing a dirty tunic and leather trousers, seemed more alive and more alluring than any woman he had ever seen. 

It was like he had never seen her before in her life.

He had never seen her as clearly.

Rylen was absolutely right about him and his feelings toward her.

He had been avoiding her, and now he knew exactly why. 

Right now, as she flit about the children, he was uncomfortably aware of exactly how much of a woman she was. The curve of her backside and the tight band she wore under her tunic and her long, slender limbs. The light violet tattoo on her face, always so distracting and disturbing when arguing with her at the War Table, now seemed like the perfect decoration on her skin, enhancing her looks. 

The weariness he felt day to day simply vanished. The exhaustion he felt from the endless hours of training, the soul-destroying call of the lyrium, even the hell that had ruined him ten years before seemed to drift away.

His breathing was uneven, like he had to force the air in and out of her lungs.

He had never experienced any sort of rush like this, in his mind or in his body. 

He closed his eyes and tried to recall how he had thought of Lavellan up until that moment. That morning, every morning, since the day they had found her in the ruins of the Conclave—pretty, yes, but annoying and alien and at best _agreeable_.

He opened his eyes and realized he would never, ever be able to see her that way again.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked Cassandra quietly.

“Sometimes you come off as being extremely annoyed at the Herald,” the Seeker said. 

If only Cassandra knew the thoughts and images running through his mind. “That’s not true—”

“It is true. How many times have you talked to her outside the War Room?”

Not very often, he thought. She didn’t like talking to him. The last conversation of any import they had had together was about fraternization. About her keeping away from Aethelstan. Oh Maker. He thought he had done that for a good reason, but… Maybe he had had other reasons. How could he not even know? “We usually don’t have occasion to talk about…well, about anything.”

“I have spent a lot of time with her. It’s true she didn’t join the Inquisition because she wanted to, but she really is part of us now. She’s working on being a part of our community. Like this.”

More of a community than he was, definitely. Not only had he had no idea Lavellan was giving lessons to the children, he had had no idea there were so many children living in Haven. And how excited they were to be around her. How much she meant to them.

Cassandra shook her head. “This morning, she told us she wanted to consider talking to the mages about the Breach, and we all jumped on her—we have to stop doing that. She’s far more patient with us than we are with her. And with them. Look at her.” 

Yes. He had to agree with that. Lavellan radiated some kind of otherworldly grace as she worked out there.

“The Inquisition is as large and as strong as it is because of her,” Cassandra continued. “We need to keep that in mind the next time we all vote her down on something she wants to do.”

He nodded. He had no idea what to say in response. In fact, any idea of what they were talking about had left his thoughts.

Because Lavellan had turned around to look at him. 

Her green eyes focused directly on his. No wonder Varric always called her “Bright Eyes.” They were really an unholy shade of green. He had noticed the color but never really seen it before. Wisps of her black hair blew around her face, and her cheeks were red from the cold air. Worst of all her lips were a much deeper pink than usual, and the corners of her mouth were turned up, just a little. Laughing.

Laughing at him, he thought. As though she could read his mind and knew exactly how hard he had fallen in love with her.

Everyone felt this way about her. Everyone thought they had some kind of special connection with her. He was just one of the many.

He had no idea how long they stared at one another. Much too long for it to be a simple glance. Much too long for him not to be aware that some sort of connection had fired in his brain—and, he had to assume, hers as well. 

One of the little girls tugged on Lavellan’s sleeve, and she bent down to help the girl set up with the bow.

At the age of thirty he learned deep down he was still an idiot, after all these years.

He had to get a hold of himself. He turned away from Cassandra and the field behind him as if he needed to cough—and instead spied one more person watching the display in the field. A man lurked in the shadows between two of the hastily constructed cabins, but Cullen could make out who it was well enough: a tall, thin young man with blond hair and a nasty expression on his face. Mirandin, one of the archers. Mirandin stared at the Herald with a look Cullen had only ever seen before on the face of someone looking for a fight—or a murder. 

Cullen knew not everyone in the Inquisition was pleased to have a Dalish elf as the symbol for the Inquisition. Some were extremely vocal about their displeasure, like Chancellor Roderick. Others seethed in private, like Mirandin. 

He had to keep an eye on the unhappy ones.

The archery lesson continued quickly. All the children had a turn, with the older archers supervising and correcting them. Then Lavellan clapped her hands. “All right. That’s enough for today.” When the children complained in unison, she shook her head. “If you’re late home, your parents will never forgive me and you won’t be allowed back here. Be quick about it and help get your suppers ready.” She clapped her hands again.

The children streamed toward the gate where Cassandra and Cullen were standing. Varric and Sera followed them out, carrying all the half- and quarter-size bows they brought to practice with.

“Oh, I need a drink and a half,” Sera said.

“Just get a whole bottle,” Varric said. 

“Yeah, that’s better, innit?”

“Hey, Seeker,” Varric said. “Did you like our little training session there?”

Cullen didn’t hear what Cassandra responded. Instead, he watched as Frewer sauntered back across the field to Lavellan, who stood by herself. He said something to her, all cocky smiles, and she responded with a lilting laugh. He put his hand on her arm and leaned in to say something else. She put her hand over his and pulled it off of her. Then she looked at the Commander.

“Duty calls, I’m afraid,” she said. 

“Another time?” the archer asked. 

“Thanks for helping today. There are so many more of them than there are of me.”

The archer leaned in toward her again and whispered in her ear. 

“No, absolutely not,” she said, and she pulled away from his hand.

As she walked away, the archer gazed at her from behind with obvious lustful interest.

Cullen found himself imagining what whether he could smash one of his recruits’ faces into the mud and whether there would be any consequences to him if he did. Maker’s mercy, his day had been easier when all he had to worry about was the simple checklist of tasks he set himself every morning. He could tell right now he was going to spend altogether too much time thinking about Lavellan every blasted second like a besotted schoolboy.

Of course, when he actually had been a schoolboy he had never gone through this. He had studied his theology and the history of the Templar order. And he had definitely never looked at the other students that way.

He had become infatuated with one woman, one of his charges at Kinloch Hold. And he had paid the price for that, hadn’t he? For days on end. Until the very thought of her or of any woman sent his body into agony. It was easier to give himself limits than to risk experiencing that again.

And now the very precious controls he’d kept tightly wound inside of him had snapped.

“Cullen, are you all right?” Cassandra asked. Her tone let him know she was not asking out of politeness. That was the Seeker asking.

“I’m fine.” How easy it was to lie to his Seeker, he thought. He cleared his throat. “I’m fine. Tired, but it’s been a long day. We should head back.” 

“Commander?” Lavellan said. “Could I have a word with you?”

Cassandra cocked her head toward town and he nodded in response. The Seeker left with Varric and Sera. As they walked off, she loudly evaluated the two rogue archers on their ability to explain technique to those learning.

Lavellan left the paddock and closed the gate behind her. She looked at Cullen, her green eyes not quite so bright as they were only minutes before. 

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Oh, yes. Yes, everything’s fine. Sorry to use you so shamefully, but I am mindful of your previous words to me about fraternization. Also, he worries me a little.”

He had trouble focusing on anything she said after mentioning fraternization. _A fancy word for fornication_ , she’d said. “Who? Frewer?” he asked.

“Oh, no. You look furious. It’s nothing like that, really, Commander. He hasn’t done anything. He…he comes on a little strong sometimes. I’ve been direct but some men seem to take me saying no as a start to the negotiations rather than an end point, if you know what I mean and I think you do. If you walk back to town with me, he’ll get the idea, believe me.”

He had barely thought about her since the day they had worked together and now he was pathetically grateful he had her all to himself for the walk back the Chantry building. 

Did Cassandra have any idea what she had done to him, bringing him here, showing him this?

“Certainly,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said. “I’m sure the two of us can find something reasonable to talk about.”

He racked his brain to think of a topic. “I’m sure we can,” he said.

They had gone half the way back before she said, “Or perhaps we can’t. Most of the things I want to ask I shouldn’t.”

What could she want to ask? he wondered. He needed her to keep talking—he was completely drawing a blank on what to say. How could he have no idea how to talk to her now? 

The answer was obvious. Because now he cared how she answered.

“When did you start doing that? With the children?” he asked.

“A little while ago. I was practicing one day—yes, Commander, I do practice all of those delightful lessons you taught me—and one of the children asked me if I could teach her a little bit about the bow. Sort of spiraled from there. Perhaps in a few years they’ll be ready for some actual learning on the subject.”

She was grinning at him, one eyebrow raised. He laughed. “By which you mean me.”

“By which I mean you, yes.”

“Seems to me you don’t need any help teaching them how to use a bow. Many of them look quite proficient already.”

“I don’t know about that,” Lavellan said. “And when some of them get older, they might appreciate getting a little individual attention from the Commander.”

The dual meaning of the words made him look at her sharply, but she just shrugged at him. “Why, Lavellan, you make it sound as though I have somehow made obscene requirements of you.” The second he said that, of course, all sorts of thoughts he shouldn’t have flew through his mind. 

She laughed. “Of course you haven’t. It’s fun to watch you blush though.” 

 _Oh, fantastic_ , he thought, as he glanced over at her and saw her bright green eyes trained on him while she grinned. Had his feelings been completely obvious to everyone except him?

Maker save him if they had been obvious to her.

Rylen had called him oblivious and loath as Cullen was to admit it, the Knight-Captain had been absolutely right.

She adopted a stern expression. “Right, don’t tease the Commander,” she said.

“No, you shouldn’t,” he said. He sounded angry even to himself. He was angry, but not at her. Why, when he had no feelings toward her, he had no trouble talking, and now everything was coming out wrong?

“Ah,” she said, the mischievous grin fading. “Well. Don’t worry, we don’t have that much further to go.”

None of the women called out to him this time as they walked past the prostitutes’s shacks. She waved to Harritt in the smithy and the Iron Bull, who was sitting out the area where he had set up camp with the Chargers. 

When they reached the Chantry doors, the bells began to ring, signaling that it was time for evening prayers.

“You’ve said these chimes have different names. What is this one?” she asked him.

“This is Eveningtide.”

“Services?”

“Yes.” He pulled the door open and stood aside for her to walk ahead of him.

“No, thank you, Commander,” she said. “I’ve been to your Chantry services only once and the priest asked me nicely never, ever to darken the door again. If you decide you want some other company later, we’re headed to the tavern. A different sort of evening services, I suppose.”

She was asking to spend time with him. Not at the War Table and not over a archery stand.

Because that’s what Lavellan did now: she developed the community, and he split people apart. If he went to the tavern with them, he wouldn’t know what to say, he would be the boring out of sorts stick in the mud Cassandra always accused him of being, and he would end up making an idiot of himself.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he said.

She gave him a wan smile. “Enjoy.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, the tags warned you: SLOW.
> 
> Imagine how long it's going to take to get them to act on any of this!


	15. The Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana can't figure out why the Commander is suddenly acting so weird around her. There's really only one way to deal with the situation: DRINK. Ellana heads to the Singing Maiden with several of her team members as well as the Commander, who really isn't the drinking type.

The Chantry door closed, the Commander’s shiny armor disappearing into the darkness.

Damn. Just when she thought she was making some headway with him. They had had such a lovely talk on the way back from the paddock.

Well…they had talked some, at any rate.

Or, she had talked, and he had periodically responded politely.

Was her infatuation too obvious? Was he annoyed she wasn’t going to be his personal little servant girl, writing his letters and fetching him cinnamon rolls? Did it irritate him she had tried, briefly, to develop relationships with people in Haven other than the few members of the Inquisition council? That didn’t seem like him, but…

 _Didn’t seem like him_. Ha, she was funny. She didn’t know a thing about him. Every so often she felt they might be developing a strange, simple camaraderie, and then she kept ruining it because of this stupid, useless passion she felt for him. Every single time. The boar in the forest, his letters, and now today. Her feelings for him were becoming more intense, not less, no matter how many times he walked past her or refused to look at her or pretended he couldn’t hear her calling him.

When he and Cassandra had appeared at the paddock where she was training the children, she had thought he might be a little bit impressed that she was able to impart some of his lessons to others. But no. All he wanted was to get back to his prayers.

Cassandra was outside the Chantry, talking to Varric and Sera. When she saw Ellana she waved her over. “Let’s go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Let’s get to the drinking, Bright Eyes,” Varric said. 

Varric liked his beer, but Ellana could tell he was more concerned with getting her moving than getting her drinking. And why was that, she wondered. Nearby she saw a trio of young men, all of whom were soldiers and none of whom tried to cover up the murderous glances they sent her way. Ellana was used to those, although she had come to expect a more welcoming atmosphere in Haven. To get such hostility—and from the Commander’s men, no less—made her wonder what had happened.

Her ears twitched, but she could overhear their conversation without much strain. 

“She’s a spy and we shouldn’t trust her!” said Franc, the young Orlesian who had arrived in the past fortnight.

“She might be a spy, but for whom?” Darick was a scribe working on Chantry documents. Ellana had heard the Commander had asked him to write letters for him. He had been messy. 

“It’s bleeding obvious, innit?” asked Mirandin, one of a trio of archers who had joined the Inquisition immediately after the fall of the Conclave. He was tall and thin and blond. His hair was blonder than even the Commander’s, although his hair was straight. Ellana had never liked him, had never allowed him to come to the archery days she had with the children. There was something off about him.

“Do tell, Archer Mirandin,” said the Commander’s baritone from behind her. “Do tell us the obvious answer to the question.”

Ellana was surprised at his appearance—as far as she was concerned, Chantry services droned on forever. Yet here he was outside the Chantry already, only minutes after going in. He didn’t pay any attention to her, though. He was glaring at the soldiers.

All three men bowed and looked down at the dirt track. “Begging your pardon, ser,” Darick said.

“You may have my pardon after Mirandin answers my question. You say it’s obvious how we may discern whether or not the Herald of Andraste is a spy. Please tell me what the obvious answer is.”

The three men hemmed and hawed, refusing to look up at the Commander’s face. He glowered at them.

Ellana knew how it felt to get that expression directed her way. She didn’t miss it. Walking into town with him today had been a definite improvement. At least he had listened to her chatter politely, instead of reprimanding her.

“We’ll stand here until you answer,” the Commander said, “or perhaps you would enjoy the opportunity to refresh your memory in a quiet, secluded area beneath the Chantry?” 

By which he meant one of the cells deep under the nave of the Chantry building. Once used for religious folk meditating in solitude, the Inquisition used them as jail cells. 

Cassandra clicked her tongue and shook her head. Varric and Sera just stared at the stupid, sullen soldiers.

Mirandin, a wide-eyed, mouth-gaping fool, looked up, startled. “I heard tales of her working with the mages,” he said. 

“You heard tales,” the Commander said quietly. 

“That she must be using Fadecraft to close the rifts,” Mirandin continued. “And her other skills.”

“And what other skills are those?” the Commander asked. 

The ensuing silence—not only from the soldiers, but from every townsperson standing anywhere nearby—only highlighted the mortification Ellana was feeling. The Commander didn’t talk to her, wouldn’t even look at her, but he had no trouble repeating the most salacious insinuations about her, loudly and in public, where everyone could hear him and see her.

“It’s unworldly, some of the things she’s able to do!” Mirandin cried.

“I believe that’s why we call her the Herald of Andraste, soldier,” the Commander said.

Ellana was astonished by the force of the warmth spreading through her chest when he said that. He was saying that about her. He was defending her. 

Creators, this shouldn’t mean so much, but it did.

Mirandin looked at the Commander, his face aghast. 

“Report to your unit, Mirandin. Your lieutenant has a good use for all of this extra energy you’re wasting on gossiping about the Herald. If he doesn’t, I may have a few suggestions.”

When the three men stayed standing in front of him, legs shaking, faces directly trained on the ground, the Commander said, “Dismissed.”

All three took off at top speed, in three different directions. 

The Commander nodded at her—well, at the whole group—and turned to start heading toward the military camp. 

“Did the priest speed through the service, Cullen?” Cassandra asked.

The Commander smiled, with that odd kink in his lip because of his scar. “With recent events, I found it difficult to concentrate on spiritual matters,” he said.

Varric hit him on the back. “Sounds to me like he needs a drink.”

“You think everyone needs a drink, Varric,” Sera said. “And you’re bloody too right about that.”

The dwarf linked his arm around Ellana’s. “You’re coming with, right, Bright Eyes?”

“As long as you’re paying,” Ellana said.

“The nice thing about drinking with you, sweetheart, is no one charges for your ale and when I’m with you, sometimes they don’t charge for mine either.” 

“If you’ll excuse me,” the Commander said, but Cassandra put her hand on his arm. 

“No, you don’t,” the Seeker said. “You are coming with, Cullen. If I have to suffer their inane banter, you do too.”

“That’s not how it works,” he said, but she pulled him alongside as she led the troupe down Butcher Street to the Singing Maiden. 

Blackwall was already in the tavern, a particularly enthusiastic brunette waitress with lovely black skin leaning over him. Tina wasn’t on call in there tonight, Ellana noticed. The Iron Bull and his Chargers had taken over one corner of the room and were engaged in a furious card game involving cards, money, knives, and some kind of cheese.

Jane the cooper and her wife Jeannie the dairy maid grabbed Ellana and each woman kissed her on a cheek. “Thank you, Herald,” Jane said, while Jeannie nodded in concert. 

“To what do I owe the honor?” Ellana asked.

“You have done such an amazing job with Amos.” 

Jeannie squeezed Ellana around the waist. “He is so excited learning the bow from you.”

“He is so excited about everything now!” Jane said. “He gets up first thing in the morning to do his washing so he has time to go practice with you.”

“Well, I’m very glad to be a part of it, ladies, but he’s an amazing boy to begin with.” 

Jeannie kissed her again. “Thank you, Herald.”

Sera grabbed Ellana by her hips and swung her onto the bench against the wall. “Stay there, you.”

“This is why I don’t come in here very often,” Ellana said. “Everyone treats me like I’m a sack of oats.” 

Cassandra sat on the bench on one side of her. “There are worse things than being popular.”

The Commander reached for the chair across from her. “Much, much worse than that,” he said.

“Mine!” Sera said, as she slid into the chair seat and knocked his hand aside.

He was about to move into the other chair, when Varric dropped three steins of beer on the table. “Nope. That’s mine. Keep moving, Curly. There.” He pointed to the part of the bench still available. Next to Ellana.

The Commander dropped on to the bench, which buckled up and down under his weight. 

Ellana scooted over to give him more room. “It’s all right, Commander. At least you still have an escape route. I’m trapped.” 

The Commander looked across her to Cassandra and then laughed. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Flissa the tavern keeper put three more steins of beer on the table. “You do us an honor, Herald,” she said. 

Ellana wasn’t sure exactly when or even how her simple presence had become an honor, but it was better than the first twenty-five years of her life, when she’d usually been thrown out of places while being called “Knife-eared trash.” She smiled at Flissa and bowed her head. “Well, I love it when I can spend time in here.” She slid a stein toward the Commander. When her hand passed his breastplate she felt the air near the metal go up several degrees. He had to be burning in that armor—was he ill? He looked much the same as he usually did: tired, rumpled, and golden. “Gods, you’re a furnace.” 

“I apologize,” he said, and he tried to move away from her. 

“Given the chill in here, it’s actually quite nice,” she said, and everyone laughed. The Commander’s mouth set in a hard, unamused line. “But are you all right? You’re not sick are you?”

She reached her hand up toward his cheek and he jerked away from her. “I feel the same as ever, Herald,” he said.

“It must be how Fereldans can stand this weather,” Cassandra said.

“Our most closely-held secret,” the Commander said.

“Here, drink something cold.” Ellana slid a glass of water next to the stein of beer. 

“Thank you,” he said, not looking at her.

Blackwall wedged into the chair next to Cassandra. The waitress who had been so attentive to him earlier came by with a platter of meats and cheeses, and then her hand trailed up Blackwall’s arm. The Warden stammered like he was embarrassed, but Ellana had been in too many taverns with him and knew exactly how things were going to end up for those two tonight.

Another platter of meats ended up on the table between the Commander and Varric. Ellana looked up to thank Flissa for her generosity.

It wasn’t Flissa.

It wasn’t even Tina, the blonde who liked to greet the Commander on his walks through town.

This waitress was an elf. She had red hair that she had straightened and dyed black, although some of her hairline and the edges of her eyebrows were still red. And she applied one of the dye “tattoos” on her face that mimicked Ellana’s _vallaslin_ —but the dye faded after a couple of weeks and had to be reapplied. And she wore a pair of knit gloves designed to look like the gloves Harritt had made for her.

Ellana knew there were several elves in Haven who aped her appearance and she knew the reason why: they had a thriving side business pretending to be the Herald for anyone with the money to pay them.

The Commander looked startled by the elf’s appearance.

No, Ellana thought: she knew the expression he wore altogether too well. He wasn’t startled. He was _angry_.

Before he could say anything, though, Ellana put her hand on his silverite vambrace. She felt his entire arm twitch under her touch. “Don’t,” she said quietly. “Whatever you’re going to say to her, don’t.”

“Name’s Tralena, if you need something,” the waitress said, and then she swept off toward the next table.

The Commander yanked his arm away from Ellana’s hand and crooked his finger at someone across the room.

Flissa the tavern owner appeared at the side of the table, twisting a bar rag between her hands. She looked at the Commander, her expression somewhere between apology and abject terror. “I’m so sorry, Herald. It won’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t,” the Commander said, and the tavern keeper curtseyed a few times before tripping as she backed away.

When Flissa left, she looked at him. “Can’t really escape it, to be honest. Not here, not even in most of the towns we pass through. I have got used to it, Commander.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” he told her. 

She took a drink of the beer—she still hadn’t acquired a taste for the stuff, but as long as she hung out with this crew she had to drink it. “It’s odd, I’ll agree with you there, but it makes plenty of people happy and they leave me alone.” She looked at him. “Which ought to make you happy,” she said quietly, and she shot him a look.

He was staring at her, his expression completely neutral. What had got into him? Ellana wondered. He had acted rather odd that day: first, the way he had watched her at the paddock with the children, then as they walked back to town, and now this. She could not figure out what was going on behind those amber eyes of his any more than she could the day she met him. Half the time he seemed friendly enough, and the other half of the time like he wanted to lock her up until the next time the Inquisition needed her for something.

Right now, at the Singing Maiden, she couldn’t figure out which side he was on. Some strange combination of the two.

Sera grabbed a pile of the ham and some of the cheeses on the platter. “You should hear the way some of those girls talk. It’s weird, listening to them imitate you.”

“Oh Maker,” the Commander muttered.

“ _Sera_ ,” Ellana said. “I don’t want to know why you know that.”

The Red Jenny let out the most exasperated sigh as she chewed. “No, not like that. I didn’t hire one—”

Cassandra let out a _Stop talking NOW_ grunt.

“We was just having a laugh together and they ask me, ‘Would Her Nibs say this this way or would she say this’…”

“Nibs?” Varric said.

Ellana looked at Cassandra. “I need to be much, much drunker tonight.”

“Cheers to that,” Blackwall said, clinking their steins together.

Within a few minutes a large tray bearing six new steins of beer appeared at their table. Then it swung around the table to the spot between the Commander and Varric, and the waitress carrying the tray bent over to lower it to the table top. 

Tina.

Who must have dressed specially before rushing over to the tavern for the occasion of the Commander actually stopping in for a drink. She looked to be wearing her finest blouse. That she neglected to button all the way up.

“There you go, Commander,” she said, putting a second stein of beer in front of him.

Ellana glanced at Cassandra, who had her hand tightly clasped to the front of her mouth, trying her damnedest not to laugh out loud.

When Tina sashayed away, Varric watched her go. “Her clothes are a miracle of engineering. You watch just waiting for some part of it to give way.”

“I wouldn’t mind getting a handful of that,” Sera said. “Those tits. Can you imagine? I’d just stick my face in there and—”

“Ach, Sera, please,” Cassandra said, but she was still fighting a smile.

Varric chuckled. “Poor Sera. Too bad for you that lady likes Curly.”

The Commander managed to look put upon by the very idea.

Varric and Sera burst into loud, mocking laughter.

Right on cue, the Commander’s cheeks colored and he pushed the second stein in front of him away. “I should be going.”

“Mine,” Sera said, and she added his glass to her collection.

“Sit the fuck down, Curly,” Varric said. “Enjoy yourself for once. Doesn’t even need to be with…uh. Don’t know her name.”

“Tina,” Ellana said.

Varric raised an eyebrow at her. “Is there nothing our Herald doesn’t know? Well, I got something here I think you’re going to like, Bright Eyes.” Varric raised his hand to get Flissa’s attention and made a complicated gesture with his fingers. The tavern keeper nodded. 

Flissa came to the table with a tray carrying a beautifully shaped purple bottle and several shot glasses. She put the tray in front of Varric, who swatted Sera’s hand away from the bottle. “This is something special I picked up recently and I’m going to share it with Bright Eyes, who looks like she needs something a little better than this beer.” Varric looked over at her, grin firmly in place, eyebrows raised. “Don’t you?”

She laughed. Varric was the best kind of friend—always willing to get into trouble without demanding any sort of payment for it. “Hit me.”

“Oh, you’re going to regret saying that. This is dragonthorn liquor,” Varric told her.

“Oh fuck me sideways, I love that shite,” Sera said.

“I will cut off your hand if you touch this bottle again, Buttercup,” Varric told the city elf. He took the shot glasses and poured out three shots of the warm, red-brown liquor. Ellana could smell the scent of dragonthorn wafting off it. “Here, Curly, you can have one too.”

He held up a hand. “No, thank you, Varric.”

“Stop being an asshole and try it,” Varric said. “It’ll put hair on your chest. Do you even have hair on that chest? Well, now you’ll have some.” 

Blackwall pointed to Varric’s open shirt. “Is too much dragonthorn what happened to you then?” 

“You’re one to talk,” Varric responded, and everyone roared with laughter.

Ellana put her hand on one of the glasses. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I,” she said.

Varric carefully clinked his shot glass with hers. “You have no idea, Bright Eyes.” 

Ellana lifted the glass. The smell was so strong her eyes were watering before she had so much as tasted it. She glanced at the Commander, who was holding his. “Cheers.” She knocked the shot back and slammed her hand down on the table top, the fierce burn ripping open her insides. “Holy Mythal!” she yelled, before she picked up the Commander’s glass of water and drank half of it. She slammed the glass down and took in a huge breath. “Is this even legal?” 

The entire group burst out into laughter, even the Commander beside her. 

“Never had that one before, have you?” Varric said. 

Ellana’s eyes were watering from the intense taste of the liquor and she watched as Varric and the Commander knocked back theirs with a lot more ease than she had had. “You’ve drunk this?” she asked the Commander.

He shrugged. “Once or twice.” 

Varric refilled her shot glass. “It’ll go down easier the second time.”

“That’s what she said,” Sera said, and she and Varric high-fived.

“I already feel drunk from the first one,” Ellana said.

“The second one will make you feel like you’re flying.” Varric waggled the bottle at the Commander, who shook his head. Then he glanced at Cassandra. “Care to try, Seeker? Be careful, I might get you drunk.”

Cassandra sniffed once before she nodded. “You wish you could hold your drink as well as I can, dwarf.”

“Oh, come on, dwarfy!” Sera said. “I want one.” 

Varric poured shots for Sera and Blackwall before refilling his own glass. “There’s one left. Drink up, Bright Eyes. This one’s yours.” 

Ellana took a deep breath in, clinked her glass against Cassandra’s, and then knocked back the second shot. 

She wasn’t sure how many minutes passed before she had the strength to say, “Never let me drink this again.” She put her hand over her glass.

“I’m going to make a dwarf out of you yet, Bright Eyes,” Varric said. “Seeker?” 

Cassandra pushed her shot glass over, and Varric emptied the rest of the dragonthorn bottle into her glass.

Ellana looked at Cassandra. “I am going to humiliate myself in spectacular ways tonight. Can I do it with you?”

Cassandra shook her head slowly. “Just don’t do it with Varric. I want to have some respect for you tomorrow.”

Ellana stretched the various muscles of her face. “My cheeks are numb.”

“What’s next on the agenda for us, Herald?” Blackwall asked Ellana.

She was much too drunk to even think about killing things. The dragonthorn had gone to a completely different area of her anatomy entirely. “I want to stay in Haven for a few days.” When everyone at the table except the Commander groaned, she said, “I enjoy sleeping in a nice warm room and having cooked food instead of being up to my miserable arse in demons and Venatori and bandits and rain and snow and bears, let us never forget the bears—”

Blackwall nodded along with everything she said. “So, we leaving first thing in the morning, or —”

Sera put her arm around Blackwall’s shoulders. “Yeah, let’s go somewhere with this one and Lady Snotface and really have a good time listening to the two of them sniping.”

Blackwall shoved the city elf off of him. “Fuck off, Sera,” he said.

Ellana rolled her eyes. Blackwall and Vivienne did nothing but bicker when Ellana took them with on a mission. She regretted ever taking them along in the same party. Blackwall couldn’t stand Vivienne’s mannerisms, and Vivienne couldn’t stand anything about Blackwall.

“Oh!” Cassandra said. Ellana wasn’t completely sure, but the Seeker sounded like her one shot of liquor had hit her pretty hard too. “You’ll like this. We got word this afternoon there’s a dragon in the eastern Hinterlands.”

The Iron Bull was by the side of their table within seconds, lounging casually against the wall. “What’s this I hear?”

“Yes, Bull, you heard right,” Ellana said. “We also have a few other things we need to do in the Hinterlands too.”

“You’re taking me with,” Bull said. 

“You always go. I’m going this time,” Sera said.

Sera, Bull, and Blackwall got into a discussion about who had gone on the most missions with Ellana.

“Take everyone with,” the Commander said quietly.

“Is that what you’d do?” Ellana asked him.

His amber eyes looked shielded and sly. “If you take them, then they’re not here for me to deal with,” he said.

She burst out into giggles. “Fair enough.” 

After a moment the side of his mouth curled up.

She was just drunk enough to let herself stare at him. For once he didn’t break eye contact with her and after a moment it became a contest of who was going to look away first. This was much worse than that moment out at the paddock, when she had looked at him and for the first time in a long time found him making direct eye contact with her. Because here, in this close space, one of them had better say something to break the silence soon. The longer this went on, the harder it was going to be to pretend there wasn’t some other meaning to it.

Creators, how badly she wanted there to be something else. That afternoon, when she saw him staring at her across the paddock—a shiver had crossed her back so severely she couldn’t move. The same thing happened again, here. Maybe it was the liquor, but she doubted it. The dragonthorn was just freeing her up enough to let herself admit how badly she wanted him.

She wondered if he felt it too. His gaze was so intent she was absolutely sure she could read his mind—but maybe that was her own desperate want coming through. 

Screw it—she was going to say something. Something that maybe they would both be able to blame on the liquor if they needed to in the morning, when she was sober again and the sun was up. But if there was one thing she knew, it was no one stared at another person this way without there being some intent behind it. She sure knew what hers was.

She leaned toward him. And if she wasn’t mistaken, he might have tilted the slightest bit toward her.

“When do we head out, Boss?” the Iron Bull said. “First light?”

The Commander sat bolt upright, moving away from her. Looking away. 

_Creators damn it, Bull, really?_

Ellana dipped her head and then turned around. “A day or two. Please.” When the Qunari moaned loudly, she tossed a piece of toast at him. “Well, for one thing, I’m still going to be drunk come the morning after this dragonthorn. And for Elgar’nan’s sake, the dragons will still be there a day or two from now, believe me. None of this ever seems to end.”

The rest of the Inner Circle went back to discussing how they should go about taking down the dragon. Ellana looked back at the Commander, who was talking to a soldier who had come over. When they were done, Cassandra got his attention with a slurred question about something. Then another soldier came over.

He avoided looking at her again, that was for certain.

Sitting next to him made her restless. Even though she was exhausted from having been up for hours, nervous energy and that damned dragonthorn liquor coursed through her veins and she wanted to get out of the tavern and run. Burn off this stupid, useless energy.

The worst part was watching that waitress Tralena, as she delivered drinks and foods to the tables around the tavern and periodically whispered to men who glanced at the Herald as they talked. So very many whispers.

If only she could burn off her energy the way Tralena did, Ellana thought. No one got warned off of going near _her_ , did they. 

Okay, clearly she had had enough, both of the alcohol, the company, and her own stupid thoughts about a man who was sitting a foot away from her and might as well have been on the other side of Thedas. She slammed her hand on the table top. “They’re about to make last call.”

Sera, who was several clotheslines of sheets past the wind by this point, said, “How can you tell?”

Ellana pointed to the bar. “Flissa just told the barman, ‘We should ring the bell for last call.’” 

“How did you hear that?” Varric asked.

Ellana wiggled her ears at him.

“You’re so elfy!” Sera yelled at her. “I didn’t hear nothing.”

Actually, neither had Ellana, but her seat allowed her a perfect view of Flissa as she spoke, and reading her lips had been easy. Better to have everyone thinking she had supernatural powers. “Last call is my cue to go.” She grinned at the Commander. “If you’d be so kind.” 

He slid off the bench to make room for her to escape their corner. “Are you all right going by yourself, Herald?” he asked.

The dragonthorn liquor had burned a path right through her, setting her body on fire. Making her crave the feel of someone else’s touch on her.

She waited until he could bring himself to look her directly in the eye. Then, slowly, she grinned as she patted Varric on the shoulder. “Thanks for the liquor, I think.” She looked back at the Commander. “I’ll be fine.” She leaned closer and whispered, “Unless you want to walk me back to my house.”

The panicked look on his face was almost too sweet to bear.

“Didn’t think so,” she said. She raised her hand. “Good night all.” She walked out and did not turn around. 

She had the feeling he was watching her go.

She was forever being watched. Kept at a distance and never touched. That was her curse in life, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life Pro Tip: avoid the dragonthorn liquor. Really. That stuff is too strong.
> 
> Also, might lead you to do stupid things in the next chapter.


	16. The Smithy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seems like maybe everyone was having a tough time of it at the tavern. Cullen, completely unable to process his feelings about the Herald, focuses on what he thinks is a threat against one of the women who appear to be the Herald. He is...well, "wrong" isn't the half of it. And the Herald catches him at it.
> 
> It's kind of a weird first date, if you think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of NSFW. Probably not enough NSFW, but some.

Cullen stood in the town square and wished the cold night air would cool him off. His skin. His body. His thoughts.

Lavellan had already disappeared by the time he had left the Singing Maiden. Just as well, he thought. What could he say to her? Whenever he tried talking to her, things became worse. No…he made things worse, both inside his head and out in the world. Maybe if he spent more time with her, he would stop wanting her.

He suspected spending more time with her would not help.

She knew. He was certain of it. Even before he became aware of the effect she had on him, she probably knew she was having one. She stayed so close to his side all the time, leaning toward him, finding excuses to touch him, sending him those flirtatious glances. He knew she acted like that with everyone. It was just how she behaved. But Maker, the way she looked at him was killing him.

He had wanted to clear his thoughts by attending the Eveningtide services and as soon as he walked into the chapel and saw the statue of Andraste he saw Lavellan instead. When he left the Chantry he found himself defending her against the lousy, insistent gossip he heard variants of every day. He wanted to go to his tent and get back to work so he could get control of his thoughts, but then he was roped into joining Lavellan and her circle at the Singing Maiden. And he ended up sitting next to her the entire time.

Which meant he spent the entire evening with his body hard and aching and wanting.

There was simply no other way around it: he had to confess to Cassandra what was going through his head—and other body parts—on the matter of the Herald. He would tell her and she would do…something. Like tell him to get his head together. Or go swim laps in the lake.

He did not think cold plunges in the lake would cool down this fever in the slightest.

As Lavellan had so quickly noticed, his skin burned. The lyrium blazing through his system, most likely. Being aware of how uncomfortable she made him only served to make him more aware of how much pain and discomfort he felt in his body nearly all the time.

A woman in a cloak rushed past him, down the path, toward the open gate. Everyone who lived outside the gates had to be through them before they closed for the night, or else they would be trapped inside Haven without a bed.

The woman’s face was covered, but the hem of her dirndl skirt peeked out from beneath the hem of the cloak. She was one of the waitresses from the Singing Maiden. And then she turned and he saw the painted tattoo on her nose and cheek. Ah, he thought. Tralena. The city elf who had made herself over to look exactly like the Herald.

The woman who provided a willing substitute for men who wanted Lavellan but couldn’t touch her for whatever reason—their own fears, or, more likely, the Commander’s prohibition against anyone going near her.

He had to laugh at himself. He had neatly painted himself into a corner, hadn’t he? At the time he couldn’t have imagined he might be one of the men who would be interested in the Herald.

He could get out of the dilemma he himself had created by visiting one of those prostitutes—whether the elves or the humans—but he didn’t think it was going to help any. As Rylen had pointed out a while ago, Cullen spent too much time with the real woman to be able to pretend for very long with anyone else.

She had sat next to him all evening and he could barely look at her, because he couldn’t stand having his feelings on display.

A second figure rushed past him, running down the pathway. As was common for the folk in the mountains, even during a warm summertime like this, he also wore a dark cloak. But then the hood pushed back and his blond hair shown in the dark as he followed the path Tralena had just taken. And he looked intent.

It was Mirandin, the archer. 

Maker’s breath.

Tralena was a substitute for many of the men in the town who adored the Herald. Perhaps she was a substitute for the ones who despised her as well.

After a moment’s hesitation, Cullen chased after Mirandin, who had already disappeared around the side of the wall.

“Commander!” the gate guard called. “We’re closing the gates.”

Mirandin was getting away. Damnation. “I understand, sergeant. You have your orders. Close those gates on schedule.”

He turned to continue the chase.

He looked down the path of cabins and lean-tos that had begun popping up outside Haven’s walls. Shabby and hastily constructed things. The gaps in the walls had been papered over, and holes in the ceiling crudely cut out to allow the smoke from a fire to escape. 

He didn’t see Mirandin or the elf Tralena anywhere. 

He heard faint sounds of footfalls somewhere to his left. He turned and ran that way.

Mirandin’s blond head disappeared around the corner.

There. At the end of the row. A shadow turned to go up the path that led furthest away from the town.

Cullen ran down the hard-packed dirt path. The cabins were more spaced out here, although if people kept pouring into Haven at the rate they had been, soon these would be crushed together with the confinement of the houses within the town walls, or even the army barracks. 

Most of the shacks at this end of the exterior town were dark, lighted only by the small fire kept burning inside the homes. But there was one that was well-lighted indeed, a fresh fire kindled by someone who had just returned home. There was a large gap in the wall, easy enough to see in to the small room. 

Cullen drew close enough to see Tralena struggle to get the clasp of her cloak undone. Behind her stood Mirandin, stock still, staring at her. The reedy young man’s Adam’s apple noticeably moved as he watched her and swallowed. The archer looked so young and completely uncertain of himself.

“What do you want?” Tralena asked.

Cullen almost rushed forward right then. But then he noticed…Tralena didn’t seem concerned at Mirandin’s intrusion. Her smile was languid and her hand was propped on her hip.

Then she put her other hand on the wooden contraption that dominated the room. It looked like…Cullen wasn’t quite sure what it looked like. It was almost an altar, with a place for someone to stand, legs spread apart, with a kneeling bench in between. The entire unit was gently tilted backward. Cullen wondered if it was some sort of torture device.

Tralena smiled and said, “Same as last time, if I make my guess?”

Mirandin’s blond head bobbed up and down, much like his Adam’s apple had. 

Tralena dropped her cloak on a rough-hewn chair in the corner. “Come now,” she said, holding out her hand to the archer as she backed up to the contraption. With ease of familiarity, she didn’t even look as she lifted one foot onto a side step, and then the other. She began hitching up her skirts. 

Mirandin fell to his knees on the bench between her legs, his face raised toward hers. The pull of the skirt revealed her white thighs. She was not wearing smalls. 

“Show your Herald your devotion,” Tralena said to him, and Mirandin pressed his face forward. Tralena cupped the back of his blond head as she pushed him to get even closer.

Well, Cullen though. The tavern elf was not in need of saving. Not from him, not now, not from this. He needed to walk away.

His feet stayed still. He kept watching. 

Periodically Mirandin would raise his face toward Tralena and she would gently push him back to his task, rocking her hips back and forth. Whatever words the man on his knees was saying, Cullen couldn’t hear. But he suspected Mirandin was praying.

“It’s hypnotic, isn’t it?” said a woman’s voice from behind him.

A very familiar voice.

He closed his eyes, wondering exactly how much shame he could feel before he simply dissolved into a puddle, and then he turned around.

Lavellan, standing right there.

She had come up behind him, silent as death, and watched him as he watched…that. She was almost completely hidden in the dark, but there was enough light flooding out of Tralena’s place of business that Cullen could see every curve of Lavellan’s face, her jaw, her lips. She stood there, in her outfit of shirt and leather pants and long leather coat, looking supremely unaffected by the intensity of the erotic act they had both just witnessed. 

“Fancy meeting you here, Commander.”

Cullen felt flushed and exposed and Lavellan looked as amused as she sounded, like she was taking an evening stroll.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. It’s not the first time I’ve wandered by this area of town. Not the first time I’ve watched her or one of the other girls at work. Is that dreadful of me? You’re probably horribly shocked at my lack of morals and common decency. Well, I am Dalish, after all. You have to expect it of us.”

“You’ve come here before,” he said, finding his voice. 

She nodded. “More than a few times, in fact. When I’m in Haven, I spend most of my evenings alone. She doesn’t. Tonight at the tavern was something of an exception, tonight was…” She shook her head. “Watching her, I feel a curious combination of excitement and another emotion I’m not as familiar with.” She smiled. “I think the word _shemlen_ use is envy.”

“How could you possibly envy that?”

The curl of her lips seemed decidedly cruel. “Do you really not know? To be honest, when I saw that man standing in there, I also felt rage. Then, thankfully, I realized I was mistaken about who it was.”

“Why? Do you know him?” Cullen asked. Maker, his wits were addled. He hadn’t drunk that much, had he? The two of them should not be standing here, having this conversation, talking about— He could not have this conversation with her, not with the way his thoughts had been going.

Lavellan stared past him, toward the opening in the shack. He looked back to see Tralena’s joyful expression, at the back of Mirandin’s blond head. He turned away only to find Lavellan studying him. “It dawns on me perhaps you’re just waiting your turn with her, Commander.”

“No,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “No,” he said again, steadier this time. “I thought the woman was in danger from him. She’s clearly…not. In danger, I mean.”

Lavellan glanced toward the cabin. “Why would you think she was in danger?”

“Because…she dresses like you. And that archer, Mirandin…I thought he hated you. And…well…” Maker, did he always sound so stupid?

“Always thinking of me in such noble ways.” She chuckled. “Which is amazing, given that most days you can’t stand me.”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s not?” she asked, with mock surprise. “You won’t talk to me and you won’t look at me. We just spent three hours at the Singing Maiden and if you said five consecutive words in my direction that would be as chatty as you get. You’re talking to me now only because you’re embarrassed I’ve found you here.”

“You always have my attention, Ellana.”

Was he completely drunk off his arse after the night spent in the tavern? Had he actually said those words out loud?

From the way she was staring at him, he had indeed. There was no taking them back. Her mouth quirked up. “Yes. I suppose I do. Never the way I want, though.”

His breathing sped up. “How do you mean?”

The light pouring out of Tralena’s cabin lighted up her face, and he could see exactly what she meant in the way she stared at him, with her large pupils and her wet lips and the way her hips were tilted at an inviting angle.

She wanted his attention. 

She wanted him.

Oh Maker. He may have read her behavior all wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time in his life he had so completely misread a situation. Maybe the alcohol was affecting his wits but for once in his life Cullen was completely sure he was seeing things clearly. 

“You and I need to talk,” he said.

“Of course, he wants to talk,” she said. “I don’t want to talk, Commander. Is that really what you want?” The look on her face made it absolutely clear she was making an invitation.

Just like that, his body was in flames much worse than he had suffered all evening. He was at a complete loss for what to do. His entire life was built around knowing his next move. The last time he had felt lost and at someone else’s mercy was in Kinloch Hold, and there was no mercy, not then. 

He suspected there wouldn’t be any now, either.

He didn’t care.

She reached forward and pulled him toward her.

“Not here,” he whispered.

“Then come with me,” she said.

She led him back toward the front gates, which were already shut and loomed black in the moonless night. Could the guards stationed in the posts overhead see the two of them pass by, Lavellan pulling him by the hand? He couldn’t think about that, not right now. He wasn’t able to think about much.

His feelings, his wants, his desires were so overwhelming.

This was why he tried to avoid ever feeling anything. They washed down over him like an avalanche he couldn’t stand against.

She led him past the stables and into the darkness of the smithy, which was still warm from the fires. He couldn’t see a blessed thing, but apparently she knew exactly what was there, because she led him to a work area at the back, behind a wall and out of sight of any of the patrols passing by. He heard her move boxes out of the way to create an alcove sheltering them from the front of the building. Then she pulled him against her, her hand hooked around his neck, her back against the wooden wall. He could barely see her there in the dark, little more than a shadow.

“Are you going to get in trouble for this?” she whispered.

He deserved that question after the long lecture he had given her about fraternization. Cassandra would yell at him for an hour—possibly two—for not having told her about his infatuation, but there would be the end of it. He shook his head, but then realized it was too dark for her to see. “Perhaps,” he said. “Yes. Some.”

He felt her shift against him—oh, Maker, she needed to stop doing that now, or this was going to be over much too soon—and then her lips touched his, a soft kiss, barely even worthy of the term. “How about now?” she said quietly.

Cassandra’s yelling became noticeably worse in his head. He winced. “Definitely.”

“We should probably make this count then.” She pulled him against her for another kiss. 

Her lips touched his, warm and soft. Fairly chaste as kisses went. Which was ironic, given that the word “chaste” had absolutely no place in most of his thoughts about her all night.

Her fingers were running through his hair, molding against the back of his head. “That’s not quite enough for me,” she said. She sounded like she was smiling.

“No,” he agreed.

She opened her mouth against his and pulled him closer. Her mouth open against his, his tongue in her mouth, her fingers on the skin at the back of his neck. He pulled his gloves off and dropped them on the floor beside them, his mouth never leaving hers, and he ran his hands down her, feeling the softness of her breasts, the curve of her ribs, the softness of her waist. She used one of her hands to pull her shirttail out of her pants, still not breaking that kiss, and one of her hands brought one of his to the touch of her stomach and he wanted to cry because she was so soft, so warm, so her.

Their kiss became the most intense sensation he had ever felt in his entire life. He thought he was going to die from pleasure. 

She moved against the wall, her bottom resting against a cross brace that ran around the interior of the smithy. She parted her knees, allowing him to press against her harder, as his hands began exploring her breasts. 

“Oh, Cullen,” she whispered, and he felt her nipple bead underneath his fingertips. “Do you know how badly I want you?”

He hadn’t known, but he was beginning to get the picture. _You’re a stupid man_ , he told himself, as he lightly traced her body down her stomach and then between her legs. She moaned softly before kissing him harder. _She wants you. You want her and she feels the same way._

Instead of giving in, he could feel himself bracing against the waves building inside of him. He needed to get away from her before—

“Please tell me you want me,” she whispered. “Please.”

He felt his stomach clench. Maker, he wanted her. But—

 _You want me, don’t you?_ The demon’s voice repeated in his head. _I can tell you want me._

The demon from Kinloch Hold. The one that had tortured him for days. The demon that had left him hard and wanting like this, in the dark, never able to see its true form, never able to be certain it wasn’t really—

The memories flooded his mind. About what he had felt there. About what he had seen there. About what he hadn’t been able to see.

He shut his eyes, even though it was too dark to see anything anyhow. The fear and wrenching agony he had felt so intensely night after night came back. Why couldn’t he just wish it away?

This was now, in Haven. He wasn’t at the Circle on Lake Calenhad, this wasn’t ten years ago, he knew what he and Ellana were doing wasn’t the same as what happened to him there. He could feel her body under his hands, could hear her breathing, could smell her sweat and the dragonthorn liquor.

But he couldn’t see her face, he couldn’t be sure she was—

Was this Ellana, or was it a demon tormenting him?

“What is it?” she murmured. Her fingertips ran down the side of his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t do this.”

“What?” she whimpered. Her hand moved to the join in his armor between the cuirass and greaves and brushed over his erection. “Trust me, you can.”

“Not like this. Not here.”

She ran her fingers up and down his cock. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? Feels like forever.”

“Really?”

Ellana’s laughed, quietly, near his ear. “Weeks. Months. I’ve been desperate to hide it.” 

She’d been hiding it.

His mouth covered hers again and he pushed her back against the wall of the smithy, his hands holding her legs against his waist, her arms around his neck. Her hips started to pulse against him and he wanted to start tearing off her clothes right then and there. He wanted to drive his body into hers, up against the wall, over and over again.

He pulled back from her, his hands still holding her body up.

“I can’t do this to you here,” he said.

“There’s nowhere else for us to go,” she said, her teeth clenched. “We can’t go to my house. Or your tent.”

He knew that. If they went to the house, Cassandra wouldn’t bother to reprimand him—she’d save everyone time by simply killing him then and there. And after the fraternization regulations he had laid down for the military, if they were caught in his tent, he would have to resign. It would most likely destroy the Inquisition.

But they couldn’t make love here, in the dark, in a stables, like she was a whore servicing him. No matter how willing she was to do exactly that, with him of all people.

More than that, though, he need to see her face. To worship her. He remembered the wild forest nymph he had glimpsed that day, and he wanted to hold her in his arms, where he could see her. And know it was her.

He was breathing hard and his heart was racing. From fear. From want. “The forest. Tomorrow. I want to see you in the daylight. I want to see your face when you break apart underneath me,” he said.

Her fingers trailed down his face, and then she began kissing him again. “Oh Cullen,” she whispered. “I don’t want to wait. I’ve waited a long time.” 

He wanted to laugh. He was all kinds of idiot. “Not here,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she breathed, and he closed his eyes. “It’s summer. I know exactly where we can go.”

“You do?”

She laughed. “Dalish elf, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“I know the forest well. I know where we can go. In the daylight, when it will be warm.” She kissed him again and ran her fingers through his hair. “I want to see you too.” 

“Tomorrow morning,” he said. “You are mine, all day.” 

After a moment he lowered her to the floor of the smithy. Her arms were still locked around his neck.

“You had better not be teasing me,” she said.

“Believe me, I’m not.” He wasn’t even sure how his legs would be able to carry him back to his tent in the condition he was in. “The gates are locked. We have to get you back—”

She laughed. “I know how to get back inside.”

“You…do?”

“There’s a hole in the wall of the stables. I know you, I’ll tell you that, you’ll have someone block it up.” She left a trail of kisses along his cheek. “Terrible security risk. It’s all right.”

He rested his forehead against hers and he laughed. His hands were trembling, he noticed. “Ellana,” he said.

“Tomorrow you are mine, Cullen.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Get some rest. You’re going to need it.” 

She kissed him again, and only the thought of having her to himself in the warm sunlight was enough to loosen his grip on her.

And then she disappeared, as though she had never been there.

~ O ~

Cullen woke before dawn, his body still primed with the energy from the night before. He wanted to find Ellana and continue where they had left off as soon as possible. Somewhere with the warm sunlight overhead and no one else around.

As he approached the walls of Haven, though, he saw a frenzy of activity outside the stables, with grooms preparing horses. Ellana, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas, all of them dressed in riding gear, stood listening as Leliana told them something rapidly.

Ellana looked at him, her mouth pressed in a line, and she shook her head at him.

Leliana turned and motioned for him to come over.

“We’ve had word from Redcliffe. There’s something very strange going on, something uncanny. The arl has left the city and the reports don’t make any kind of sense. The Herald needs to go there immediately. I don’t like this, Commander.”

For the first time in a decade Cullen felt resentment toward every single responsibility he bore, that he carried out. He wanted to be selfish and yell, “No, you can’t send her away! Not today!”

But he wouldn’t. He never would.

Cullen nodded. “Of course.” He studied the ground. “She does.”

“Never a day to myself,” Ellana said. 

He looked up to find her staring at him.

“Herald, are you all right?” Leliana asked.

“I’m fine. This shouldn’t take more than a few days,” Ellana said, her smile bright. “Find out what’s going on in Redcliffe, and then we’ll continue with the matter of the Breach.”

Solas nodded. “I believe I have calculated exactly what we need in order—”

Cullen blocked out what the apostate was saying. He knew he shouldn’t stare so openly at Ellana, but he couldn’t help it—Maker, she was beautiful. Now that he understood what he was feeling toward her, he had no idea how hide any more, from himself or from her or from anyone. 

“Cullen, we will be fine,” Cassandra said. “We will find out what is wrong in Redcliffe and be back soon. Same as always.”

Not the same as always, he thought. He wanted Ellana to return to him now, the Inquisition’s needs be damned. Instead, he nodded and watched as one of the stablehands helped Ellana up and into her saddle.

Her gaze focused directly on him, though. “Keep the War Room warm for us.”

“Hurry back.” He patted the side of her horse. Ellana brought her foot out of the stirrup far enough to brush her knee against his hand. 

“Let’s go,” Cassandra said, and she led the party out of the stables.

Cullen stood outside the stables and watched the dust they kicked up as they headed up the northern road. Two days to Redcliffe if they stopped overnight, one long ride if they didn’t. He kept watching until they crested the hill and dropped out of sight.

She was the Herald. She had responsibilities. She had to fulfill them. Hadn’t he spent months making sure she could do exactly that?

Of course he had. That was his job. Damn it.

Behind him, he heard Blackwall clear his throat before saying: “Commander?” 

Maker, not that irritating man, not now. “What is it?” Cullen asked, watching the horses disappear up the road.

“I heard someone messing about in the smithy last night. Found these tucked away in the back”

Cullen turned to find Blackwall standing there, his large hand holding a pair of armored gloves. His gloves. The gloves Cullen had taken off the previous night because he had been so eager to get his hands on Ellana’s body. 

Gloves that the Commander always wore when he was in his armor. Which he clearly had been last night at the tavern.

He had completely forgotten Blackwall’s room was adjacent to the smithy. He was willing to bet it hadn’t crossed Ellana’s mind either. Maker’s mercy, what they had been on the verge of doing there, right where Blackwall could hear them?

Cullen put his hand out to take them. “Thank you.”

“Guess we need to be more careful around here at night, Commander,” Blackwall said. “I nearly intercepted whoever was in there. Next time I’ll be faster and they won’t be so lucky.”

Cullen nodded. “Hope you weren’t disturbed from your rest.”

“Wish I could have heard what they were talking about.”

Cullen looked the Grey Warden directly in the eyes. “Maybe it’s better you didn’t.”

“May very well be,” Blackwall said, nodding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize it takes quite a lot to stop a guy once things are in motion, but I'm kinda thinking our favorite ex-Templar has lots and lots of reasons to put the brakes on things when they become overwhelming.


	17. The Owner's Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana comes back from Redcliffe with her new friend, the Tevinter mage Dorian Pavus. She bears scars of what happened there--both figuratively and quite literally. And Cullen Rutherford is the last person in Thedas she wants to get comfort from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: I’ve added tags but there is discussion of a particularly disturbing act of violence in this chapter. (NB: not rape, although it's clearly threatened.) I thought about presenting it in real time as it was happening and then thought to myself… Yeah, I don’t want to do that. So we get Ellana remembering it, not experiencing it.
> 
> If you want to skip this chapter, just know that Redcliffe goes VERY badly and Ellana gets tortured by the future version of Cullen.
> 
> Needless to say, that relationship that’s been building between them? It runs into some major problems here. They aren't back at Square One. They're way before Square One.

Redcliffe Castle.

It wasn’t like they didn’t know it was a trap. Of course they knew it was. They had even planned for it to be a trap, hadn’t they?

She and Dorian, the Tevinter mage who was helping them work against Magister Alexius, were flung a year in the future, to that horrible blasted landscape where all hope was dead—

_whatever he asked_

—And they fought together, cell by cell, floor by floor through Redcliffe Castle. Finding her friends, or what was left of them, and killing everything that came their way.

Yes, there was the one part where they got separated, where she thought she was going to die—

_I’d do whatever he asked_

—Where she _hoped_ she was going to die, because that would be easier—

_I swore I’d do whatever he asked_

—but then Dorian blew the door between them into fiery toothpicks with a well-aimed fire blast, and they escaped.

Together they ran through the Castle. They cornered Alexius and destroyed the Tevinter magister, though he had already been destroyed by watching Felix wither and die. They fought his wraiths and his terror demons and Dorian opened the portal back home, back to their own time, where none of this had happened—

Except it had happened. She bore the scars of it happening. 

She had to make sure that future did not come to pass.

When she was certain she was in the right time, in her own time, a moment before the Elder One had destroyed everything, she offered Fiona and the mages an alliance with the Inquisition. The Inquisition needed their power, and the mages needed their protection. Cassandra was absolutely furious with her for doing it and told her in no uncertain terms she had no right—

Ellana felt Cassandra’s words drift away from her like tiny leaves in an autumn windstorm. The Seeker hadn’t experienced that future. She hadn’t seen what was coming. She hadn’t felt the sharp blade that made it clear exactly how out of time they were. 

“I’m the Herald. It’s done. Make the arrangements.” 

Ellana wrote the letter to send on ahead to Haven ahead of the party. Her hand trembled when she included a brief description of what she and Dorian had experienced, and then she and her party began the long trip back. 

Cassandra barely spoke two words to her on the entire journey, instead choosing to ride alongside Varric for once. That was fine, anyhow: Ellana rode next to Dorian, who every so often would take her hand and squeeze. When they sat in camp with the others, Dorian was cheerful and flirtatious and extremely cheeky in the way he teased everyone else in their party. When he and Ellana talked alone, he spoke quietly and mostly let the silence talk for them. 

So strange, for a Tevinter man to be the person she felt closest to. For most of her life, the watchword had been to run from Tevinters, with their fancy clothing and their horrific bindings. And here was one, comforting her.

She told him as much.

“If you really must know, it’s rather odd for me too,” Dorian said. “My entire life I’ve been told that elves are scurrilous little creatures whose only mission in life is to make mine easier.” He fiddled with his waxed mustache. “We are not what we assume the other to be.”

“I certainly hope not, Dorian. I need a friend. Very badly, right now.”

He looked around the camp. “So do I.”

The only other person she spoke to was the healer who worked on her. The herbalist had gasped when she saw what happened to Ellana in the Castle. Ellana demanded the woman’s absolute silence, and it wasn’t hard to get the vow.

When they arrived at the stables in Haven, a lieutenant was waiting to escort her and Cassandra to the War Room. 

Ellana turned to Dorian. “Come on.”

Cassandra glared at her. “He can wait.”

“He will not,” Ellana ordered her. 

In the War Room Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana were waiting. Cullen paced around, stalking the room like an angry lion. Josephine nervously washed her hands in the air. Leliana might have been doing needlepoint, for all the emotion she displayed.

Leliana looked so young and graceful, in comparison to the dried, wasted husk of a prisoner they had found being tortured in Redcliffe Castle, used for her blood and skin.

Cullen looked…

Well, he looked _angry_. 

He was so very good at that, she remembered.

No, wait, this man never had been, it was—

She told herself she wasn’t being fair. He looked exactly the same as he did the day she left Haven to go to Redcliffe. When she had wanted nothing more than to have him touching her. Kissing her. Making love to her.

Seeing him now, though—it was like her mind was having trouble resolving two images simultaneously.

Ellana avoided making eye contact with him altogether.

Dorian’s entrance to the room caused more of a stir than she anticipated. She didn’t care. She didn’t have time to care. None of them had _time_. Things had changed.

“You had no right to offer the mages alliance without our agreement!” Cullen yelled.

Ellana stared down at the map of Thedas as she tried to focus on what she needed to tell them. “Yes, Commander, I had every right. As you and Sister Nightingale are so fond of telling me, I had to make a decision and I made one. We need the mages’ power—“

She risked a glance up. The cords in his neck were standing out with his rage. Better to look there than in his eyes. Which were amber. She checked yet again, quickly, and then looked away. “That many mages near an opening to the Fade is a recipe for disaster. We need to find the Templars now.”

So often she had deferred to him or to one of the others in the council. Not today. They hadn’t seen what she saw there, a year in the future. He hadn’t seen what was coming.

_I swore I’d do whatever he asked_

“We have to close this Breach _now_ , Commander,” Ellana said, cutting his tirade off without hesitation. “We don’t have any more time. The Templars will not join us. We have the mages. We must act as soon as we can.”

“Because of this Elder One,” Leliana said, her voice still soft.

Ellana could still smell the charnel house inside Redcliffe Castle. The ruins of the land visible in every direction outside of it. Because she hadn’t acted. Because she hadn’t stood against the Elder One and his plans. Because for so long she had gone along with the Inquisition instead of being a part of it. “He must be denied this power he seeks. The Breach must be closed. The mages are on their way. Figure out how we can have them here.”

“Your report was very cryptic about what happened during your experience in the Castle,” Leliana said.

Ellana looked at Dorian, who raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, we’re both here, we can tell you what we saw,” he said.

“Do that,” Cullen spat.

Ellana found herself recoiling from the sound of his voice. The voice that had come to mean so much to her.

They took turns describing what had happened as best they could. Filling in the blanks for one another. Who they had killed, who they had rescued. She stared at the table as she described unhooking Leliana from the torture device. 

“You’re her,” Dorian breathed, looking at Leliana. “That’s the woman who—”

“Don’t,” Ellana said.

“I want to know,” Leliana told her.

All Ellana could see in her mind’s eye was the Leliana of Redcliffe, her blood drained, her skin ruined because of the pieces that had been removed, over and over again. “You really, really don’t, Leliana.” 

She and Dorian began reciting the details from how they had killed Alexius and returned to the right time, before the world had gone up in flames. She described the people trapped there: Varric, Iron Bull, Cassandra, Vivienne, and Blackwall. And of course, Leliana, who was being tortured beyond human endurance. 

Cassandra could not hide her horror at Ellana’s description of what the Sister had become. Leliana maintained an absolutely even expression.

“You didn’t see Solas?” Leliana asked.

Ellana shook her head. “No idea what might have happened to him.” 

“And you didn’t see me? I wasn’t there?” Josephine asked.

“Let us pray you were not, Lady Josephine,” Dorian said.

The Ambassador had been there, actually. Pieces of her, at any rate. Ellana hadn’t told anyone about that. She didn’t see any reason to.

“And all of this was enough to make your first action upon returning an alliance with the mages,” Leliana said. 

“The urgency to act was quite clear, Sister. Your final words to me were _Do something_.” She frowned. “I mean, not your final words, _her_ final words—”

“And of course this Tevinter didn’t do anything to sway your decision on allying with the mages,” Cullen said.

“Anything specific you want to ask, Commander?” Dorian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Ellana put her hand over Dorian’s and stared at Cullen. _His eyes are amber_ , she noted. _Of course they’re amber, they’ve always been amber._ She had loved looking at those eyes. Keep talking, she scolded herself. “This Tevinter is the reason I’m standing here with all of you right now. If you want him to leave, trust me, I’m going with him.”

No one had a response to that. 

After several moments of silence went by, Leliana said, “What aren’t you telling us?”

“Same thing she hasn’t told me,” Dorian said. “What happened when we were separated.”

Cullen said, “When you were separated? You didn’t mention that.”

Dorian smiled at him. “During one particularly terrible stretch, we went into different rooms and I couldn’t get back to her. When I finally managed to find her, she was far more haggard and disoriented than when I had seen her last. It had only been fifteen or twenty minutes and I couldn’t imagine what could have happened in that time. Finding her like that was…” 

Ellana tried to control her reactions. But she couldn’t help it—she glanced at Cullen.

“You saw me,” he said.

“Yes,” she said.

Leliana and Cassandra stood up straighter and looked from Ellana to Cullen and back. Josephine kept twisting her hands, nervously.

“I take it the Commander was not the same man we know,” Leliana said.

Ellana took in a deep breath and wished that everyone would just leave her alone already and stop forcing her to relive this. But who was she kidding. They hadn’t let her alone for the past year. Why would they start now?

“The Commander had changed. Or had been changed,” she said finally. 

_Dorian went left and she went right, and the door between their rooms slammed shut. At first she didn’t see anyone in the room she was in, and her main concern was finding her way back to Dorian. But then she heard familiar footsteps behind her, and she turned to find Cullen standing there. “Hello, Ellana,” he had said._

_She had felt such joy at seeing him, at hearing his voice. He had survived. He was there. He was whole, not locked in one of those cells._

_But then she noticed that his armor was now red, from lyrium, from paint, and from blood. And his eyes were red, from the red lyrium coursing through his veins. And his cloak…_

_Well, that wasn’t made from the skin of a bear any more. She could make out four separate faces amongst the skins hanging over the back of his collar. One of them was Josephine’s. When she met King Alistair in Redcliffe after they returned, she recognized his face as one of the four._

_Then she looked back at Cullen and saw the way he smiled at her._

_It was not an attractive smile. The shy smile so many of the girls in town giggled about. The promising smile Ellana had left behind in Haven._

_It a smile full of hunger._

_He advanced on her, swinging his sword through the air, slicing everything in his path in half, as he talked to her._

She couldn’t look at him across the table. She couldn’t. “He had become a creature of this Elder One.”

“How did you know that?” Cassandra demanded. 

“Well, two important ways,” Ellana said to her. “One would be the great quantities of red lyrium he had clearly consumed.”

“No,” Cullen whispered.

“And the other would be the way he trying his damnedest to split my skull in two with his sword.” 

_Cullen—no, she couldn’t think of him as Cullen, she had to think of him as the Monster—wielded the same sword he had always carried, only this one hadn’t been cleaned in a while and the blade was almost black with the dried blood and gore. She ducked his swing at the last moment and the blade took apart the bookcase behind her. After that she scrambled backward to dodge several furious blows, any one of which would have neatly sliced her in two. If he had wanted any of his blows to hit her, they would have, but he was toying with her. He always lifted the swing at the last moment and then laughed._

“Ellana?” Josephine said.

She shook her head, willing herself not to cry. “One thing you— _he_ told me was he was the first person in the Inquisition the Elder One targeted. He said I disappeared and in the ensuing confusion the Elder One directed his efforts at the Commander. That was the reason the Elder One’s plot succeeded and the Inquisition failed. He gave the Commander red lyrium and…he changed.”

“That was not me!” Cullen yelled.

“He said he had never had so much fun. Not since his time at the Gallows.” Ellana looked around. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Cassandra put her hand on Cullen’s arm to stop him from walking away.

“Once again, a reference the Herald doesn’t understand but apparently everyone else in the room does,” Ellana said.

Leliana bowed her head and clasped her hands in front of her. “I am very sorry for what you suffered there, Herald. But this future you experienced. It has not happened.” 

“Excuse me very politely,” Dorian said, his tone barely respectful, “but yes, it did. We were there.”

Ellana shook her head at him, asking him to be quiet. She had to make the Inquisition’s founders understand what she had gone through. What she had experienced. That she had not offered an alliance with the mages easily—she did it because she needed them to avoid this future. They needed to act now. 

To do that, she had to show him, show all of them, what she had kept hidden from everyone except the healer who treated her after they returned. What she thought she would never show anyone.

She lifted her gaze from the War Table and looked at Cullen. “Do you know what an owner’s mark is, Commander?” she asked.

Leliana and Cassandra looked from her to him.

“What?” he asked. The change in his voice told her everything. Yes, he knew. Well, of course he did.

Dorian said, “Well, the Vint doesn’t know, so—”

Ellana lifted her hands to the top tie of her shirt and unfastened it. “He explained it to me. It was a joke, of sorts, amongst some of the less ethically inclined Templars in some Circles. In Kirkwall some of them did it. Ser Alrik was one, he said. The Templars marked mages as possessions…with their swords.” She unfastened the second tie.

“Anyone who did any such thing was punished severely and removed from the Order,” Cullen said. “It’s horrific.”

She pushed the sides of her shirt apart and dug her fingernails under the tape fastening the edge of the thick pad affixed just under her left collarbone, right above her heart. “But you know how to do it, even if you never have.” She flipped the bandage aside. “Trust me.”

A red, angry scar covered the large letters CR carved into her skin. The flourish on the serif of the R was particularly finely wrought, as it trailed off toward her arm.

“He held me against the wall and said, ‘Don’t move, or my hand might slip.’ He cut just deep enough to scar me but not to damage the muscle underneath.” 

Cassandra looked ashen.

Josephine sat on a nearby chair and covered her mouth.

Leliana looked concerned—for Ellana, for the Inquisition, for the future of everything they were working toward.

And Cullen…well. 

He looked destroyed.

Which was pretty much how she had felt since the whole thing happened, to be honest.

His gaze at her across the War Table was steady, but for the first time since she had first met him Ellana thought he actually didn’t know what to do or say to her.

She didn’t either, quite frankly. She had left for Redcliffe thinking it would be short journey, less eventful than most, and instead it had wrecked her moorings. Right before she left she thought he might be the best thing that had happened to her in the year since the Conclave had fallen on her head—and that one thing, that one connection, had been sliced away in fifteen minutes in future she hoped she would never see again.

“I did not offer the mages an alliance lightly, Commander. I did not act capriciously or thoughtlessly. This future cannot come to pass.” 

“No,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Ellana retaped the bandage and then fastened her shirt. “The healer can’t figure out why the wound isn’t closing. All my other wounds normally close so fast. Maybe red lyrium dust got in there. She doesn’t know.”

Leliana, as always, stayed right on task. She cocked her head to one side. “You said you had disappeared. Do you know why?”

Ellana shook her head. “He didn’t say.”

“How did the Elder One turn the Commander first?”

That was one thing she was never going to tell them. Not this day, maybe not ever. Especially not with the Elder One still out there and the Breach active. She shook her head. “The Elder One knows the Inquisition wouldn’t survive without him. Listen, when I was in that room, with that monster… He wanted to torture me. Drag out the pain. Make me surrender, whatever. We weren’t catching up on all the news.”

Except, of course, that was a lie, wasn’t it? The Monster made sure she knew why so much had gone to the Void since she had disappeared in Redcliffe the year before. He had dragged out every word, every phrase, to hurt her as badly as his sword did. And how he had enjoyed the pain he caused.

 _Oh, my lovely Ellana_ , the not-Cullen said as he advanced, sword swinging back and forth. _There she is. My beloved finally returns to me. Corypheus keeps his promises after all._

 _What did he do to you?_ she screamed.

The monster chuckled, a horrible noise made worse by its familiarity. He walked toward her. 

_I swore to do whatever he asked if he would bring you back to me. Such a small sacrifice, to see you again, my love._

_No_ , she had screamed.

He poked the sword toward her, an idle feint not meant to connect. _You left me with a promise, Ellana. Now it’s your turn. You remember your promise? Or do you spread your legs for anyone who begs you?_ He had laughed again, that sickening, low, melodic laugh. _I can beg, ever so nicely._ And he swung that sword, hard, deliberately missing her, reducing a chair to splinters.

If he had had any more time with her, she wasn’t sure what he might have done to her.

“How did you get away?” Leliana asked.

“I killed him.”

Cullen’s eyes widened.

Leliana said, “Herald—”

“He kept toying with me. He would let me get away and then catch me again, over and over, leaving just long enough to let me know it was deliberate. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Every time he missed with the sword he made it very obvious he meant to do so.” Ellana’s hand moved through the air, her eyes vacant as she remembered. 

The room was silent.

“What…” He cleared his throat. “What did you do?” Cullen asked.

She blinked and her eyes focused on him, and then almost as quickly she looked away. “I crawled under a table and discovered one of my arrows had lodged in one of the table legs. I managed to pull it out. He grabbed my legs and dragged me out from under the table and I only had maybe a second to act… I jammed it through his eye socket. Into his skull.” Her hand moved in the air as if reenacting it.

Josephine, Cassandra, and Leliana all closed their eyes as if struck.

Cullen didn’t. He kept staring at her. He was retreating back into being the Commander, completely unaffected emotionally by events. It was how he dealt with things, she supposed. Would that she could react the same way.

Her mind kept flashing back to the monster in Redcliffe as she looked at him. The man she had fallen in love with. 

“Ellana,” he said. The name she had craved hearing him use. And she couldn’t handle hearing him say it now.

She looked around the War Room, at Josephine, Cassandra, and Leliana, as healthy and whole as she had ever seen them. “This is what happened to me. Less than four days ago. This sounds like a bad dream to you. It’s not. It wasn’t. I offered an alliance with the mages to make certain that for you, it would only ever be just a bad dream.” She put her hand over the bandage on her chest. “But I assure you, it was very real.” 

Before she could stop herself, she started crying. “Let’s get this over with. Get the Breach done and then I want to return home. I want to go back to my clan. I can’t take any of this any more.”

Her chest started throbbing and she pushed down on the bandage to try to mitigate the pain. “Oh, Sylaise, it’s bleeding again. I need to change the wrapping.” 

“I’’ll go with you,” Dorian said.

After a moment, Ellana lifted her eyes to look at the rest of the room. To look at Cullen. “I don’t care how you decide what to do with the mages, but figure it out. They’re here to help us close the Breach. Start making arrangements.”

~ O ~

As the door to the War Room closed behind the Herald and her new Tevinter companion, Leliana calculated exactly how much damage had been done to her grand plans.

She looked at everyone else there. 

“Not one word of this leaves this room!” she thundered.

“Really, Sister Leliana?” Cullen thundered. “You think we need to be told that?”

Leliana did not have time for his self-recriminations. “Oh, for Maker’s sake, Cullen, you didn’t do that to her.” 

“Did you not see the look in her eyes? Yes, she bloody well does see me as the man who did that to her.” 

Leliana grit her teeth. She could see that on the Herald’s face as well as anyone. She also knew that whatever trust, whatever deeper feelings had been building between the Herald and the Commander were done for now.

Of course, the man the Herald described meeting in the future—maybe no one else had picked up on this, but he had to be somewhat obsessed with Ellana if he was willing to toy with her and mark her instead of kill her immediately. If he really was a future version of this man, maybe things had gone further between the two of them in the present than she knew.

“That is not a problem we can handle right now, Commander. If you want to, you go deal with it.” 

After a second’s hesitation, Cullen ran to the door and followed Ellana out.

Leliana swore repeatedly under her breath before telling Cassandra, “Find me the healer who’s been working on the Herald and bring her here. I need to make sure she understand exactly how quiet she needs to be about this.”

“I know who it is. I’ll talk to her, make her understand.” Cassandra slammed her hand on the table. “How did Ellana not tell us about this? She didn’t say a word about any of this on the way back from Redcliffe.”

“How could you not have noticed she’d been carved?” Leliana yelled.

“It was chaos, Leliana!”

Josephine cleared her throat. “Did you know? About the two of them?” 

“Yes,” Leliana said. 

Cassandra sneered, “Oh, Maker, save me, Leliana. There is no relationship between them.”

“Do you not have eyes? Right here, in this room, right in front of you,” Leliana said.

“He never said a word.”

Leliana tilted her head to the side. “Really. You expect Cullen Rutherford to confess his feelings? Half the time the man doesn’t know what they are.” 

“You’re telling me they were—”

Leliana shook her head. “No. I don’t think it’s gone that far. And they certainly won’t now. Which is unfortunate but can’t be helped.” 

“What do you mean, unfortunate?” Josephine asked.

“Ambassador, send word to every town, city, hillock you can think of. If they know of any Templars who have not followed Lord Lucius, we need them here immediately. We have a lot of mages headed this way, and the townspeople are already unhappy with how many we’ve got here.” She looked over at Cassandra. “What are you still doing here? Get moving and find that healer.”

~ O ~

Ellana and Dorian were halfway across the town square outside the Chantry when she heard Cullen’s voice. 

“Herald,” he said. 

 _Oh, my lovely Ellana_ , she heard.

No more using her name, she noticed. He hadn’t even returned to calling her Lavellan. 

When she turned around, she noticed he had stopped ten feet away from her. “Yes, Commander?”

He looked honestly sick and miserable, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not walk any closer to her. “What you experienced in Redcliffe…I…”

She wanted to tell him she didn’t blame him. That she knew he didn’t do any of that. But she couldn’t. Because she remembered how he had laughed as he ever so delicately drew the tip of his sword along her skin. That scar on his lip pulled up just the same as it ever had. The mouth that had been on hers the night before she left. 

“Yes,” she said.

“I have one question. About what you learned there.”

“What is it?”

“There is something you didn’t tell us in there. Something very important. About why I would… About how Corypheus got the advantage.”

_I swore to do whatever he asked if he would bring you back to me._

That one line kept coming back to her, because it told her so much. At least, she thought it did. Would Cullen really give in to this Elder One’s demands if it meant bringing her back from the dead? Had she meant so much to him?

Maybe when difficult, violent, all-consuming emotions like…well, like _passion_ descended on two people, they stopped being responsible for their actions. The man who had pushed her against the wall in the stables had wanted her desperately. Corypheus must have taken advantage of that almost immediately, while Cullen was still under the pull of his body’s needs.

It couldn’t be more than that. 

She wasn’t going to allow it to be more than that.

Cullen put one foot forward, as if he were going to cross the distance between them, but then he slowly drew his foot back. “Whatever you can tell us—Cassandra, or Leliana, or… No matter how horrible it is. If there’s anything that we should know to prevent this future you saw…” 

“I said enough. You know everything you need to,” she said.

“But there is a reason you won’t say this very last thing.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Very true, Commander. Maybe I will explain someday. But only when this is all over and the Breach is closed. Until then, if the Elder One offers you _any_ prize for your cooperation, may I advise you not to accept.”

Cullen nodded and silently turned to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The image of the initials carved into her skin are actually what set me off on this completely out of control retelling of the entire game. This undoubtedly tells you way too much about Your Humble Author's psyche. (The title actually comes to mean a few other things during the course of this story, but it starts here.)
> 
> It has always deeply irritated me that the trip into the future in Redcliffe is treated pretty casually in the game. And that we never find out what happened to Cullen in that future.
> 
> (And now I've finally played Champions of the Just at long last...wow, what a mess THAT storyline is. Seriously, Bioware, what was that nonsense?)
> 
> Anyhow, in the hopeful case you're still reading, things do get better from here on out--but things are also going to change drastically as well. It's unlikely, for instance, that any of Leliana's cute little games would work on these two now.


	18. Closing the Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the Herald to come home and close the Breach. All Cullen can feel is the divide between them though. He is singularly ill-equipped to do a thing about it.
> 
> During the ceremony, something goes terribly wrong--well, what do you expect is going to happen when you bring that many mages to a spot right next to the Fade? 
> 
> And maybe, just maybe, there is a glimmer of a notion that things between the Commander and the Herald might, just might, be able to improve. Certainly, if things stay quiet for a while, now that the Breach is sealed.

It was days before the War Council met again. Ellana stared at the map the entire time. All Cullen saw was the top of her head. Her straight black hair fell on the sides of her face like a curtain, closing her off.

Usually the War Council was so noisy, with everyone talking on top of one another. Today no one wanted to say a thing.

Cassandra cleared her throat. “Solas is working on the plan for how to use the mages to seal the Breach.”

Leliana nodded. “We have received word from some Templars who have left Therinfal Redoubt. They’re coming here.”

“How long?” Cullen asked. The sound of his own voice was difficult to bear. 

“At least a week for most of them to arrive. We have some others who are coming in from a few areas of Orlais, even Ostwick. They’re rushing, but…” 

“Finding everyone accommodations is proving a challenging task,” Josephine said. “We have so many mages coming in. And now Templars!” She laughed, nervous, and looked at the Herald, who didn’t respond. “But we will make do.”

“It’s going to be uncomfortable for a while,” Cassandra said.

Cullen stared at Ellana and thought, _That’s the understatement of the age_. 

She wouldn’t look at him. To be fair, she didn’t look at any of them, but he felt her refusal to deal with him acutely. Cassandra told them the Herald was shut down most of the time: she ate hardly anything, and she talked to almost no one, including the elven servants, and usually she went out of her way to chat with them every day. The only person she seemed to have conversations of any length with was the mage she had brought with her from Redcliffe, Dorian.

“How long before we’re ready?” he asked.

Leliana looked at Cassandra. “It will take about two weeks to get everyone here.”

“Solas said it should take about that long to get the ritual worked out,” Cassandra said.

“Fantastic,” Ellana said, her voice monotone. She still wouldn’t look up. “Two weeks. I will go to the Hinterlands and deal with…I don’t know. There are Venatori there. Dorian would really like to kill some Venatori.”

Cullen didn’t want the Herald to go anywhere. She ought to stay here and remain safe. After all, everyone in the room all knew too well what had happened the last time she had left town. But staying safe tucked away in Haven wasn’t the Herald’s mission, and it was probably better for her to be somewhere else, away from the planning. Away from him. Even if she were going to be with this Dorian person.

If Cullen were going to be honest with himself—always a difficult proposition at the best of times, and these were not the best of times—he really resented the presence of this Dorian Pavus. The Tevinter newcomer seemed friendly enough with everyone in town—flirtatious, even, with everybody, except for Cullen, who he avoided, probably because of what had happened in the War Room when she revealed her wound. When Cullen saw Ellana at all, she was walking with Dorian, the two of them whispering to one another and holding hands. Cassandra said Ellana spent a lot of time in Dorian’s room at the tavern.

It was good Ellana had somebody to comfort her, Cullen thought. He just didn’t want it to be Dorian. 

He wanted it to be the one person it absolutely couldn’t be: him.

But. If Ellana was going away for two weeks, though, the Tevinter mage wouldn’t be enough of an escort. She needed to take a larger party to keep her safe. Nothing could happen to her before they closed the Breach. Nothing.

He wanted to tell her that. He wanted her to know that.

He said nothing.

Cassandra, who stood next to Ellana across the table, said, “I’ll go with you. Who else?” 

Ellana pinched her nose. “I don’t know. Vivienne, I suppose. She doesn’t want to deal with Solas, and he’s made it clear he doesn’t like treating with her. That’s probably enough, don’t you think? Two mages, a warrior, and me?”

“Take Sera,” Cullen said.

He was surprised when Ellana chuckled, although she didn’t look up from the map. “You mean, take her away from here, so she can’t cause any problems?” She stood up straight and her gaze moved from the table to the pictures hung near the crown molding near the ceiling. Still refusing to look at any of them. At him. “All right. The five of us will go to the Hinterlands for two weeks. Send word when everything is set up for me.” She turned around and opened the door to the War Room. 

“When will you go?” Josephine asked.

The Herald shrugged. “They have no other plans, so we’ll go today. I’ll find the others.” She walked out and let the door slam behind her.

The remaining four members of the council looked at one another.

“Reports. Every day. Every single damn thing she says and does,” Leliana said.

Cassandra rubbed her eyes. “It’ll probably be much the same as it has been. Quiet, not talking, except with Dorian. Who’s nice enough, but…” She grunted and then patted her collarbone. “I have noticed the, um, it’s stopped bleeding.” 

Cullen grit his teeth and closed his eyes.

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Josephine said.

“Take what victories we can,” Leliana said.

“I’ll look into rearranging some of the soldiers’ sleeping arrangements,” Cullen said. “See if we can free up more beds.”

“Commander,” Leliana said. “How are you faring?”

“As well as can be expected, Sister. This has been hard on all of us.”

“We’re going to get through this.”

He was supposed to say something optimistic in return, he thought. Nothing came to mind.

The council broke up and Cullen knew exactly where he would go—out of the Chantry, out of the town, and back to his tent. He would deal with the Knight-Captains in moving around the soldiers in the tents, he would eat in the mess, and he would get his work done. Simple, orderly, and it kept him far away from anywhere he might accidentally run into the Herald.

Because he knew he was staring at her with all the wanting and longing he still felt.

However, he didn’t move fast enough on his way through the Chantry; Cassandra matched his pace surprisingly easily for a woman that much shorter than he. As always, the Seeker wouldn’t allow him to escape so easily.

She said nothing until they were leaving through the town gates.

“You still see it,” Cassandra asked him.

There was no use lying or pretending he didn’t know she was talking about the owner’s mark carved into Ellana’s skin. “Every time I close my eyes.” 

“Stop torturing yourself. You didn’t do it to her.”

“She clearly sees me as the man who did.”

Cassandra did not bother to contradict him. “She’s very confused right now. It’s only been five days since it happened.”

 _Six_ , he thought. _It’s been six days._ Just then Cassandra and he passed the smithy and he found himself looking at the area toward the back, where the boxes were stacked high and it was easy to hide from passing eyes. It had been eleven days since he had his mouth on hers and she had promised to be his. 

“How long do you think we should give her to get over it?” he snapped.

“Ouch,” Cassandra said. “It’s not just you, you know. She’s upset at all of us.”

He stopped on the road outside the first tent of the hundreds they had set up for the army. “She _hates_ me, Cassandra. Beyond that, there’s nothing she likes about this situation. She doesn’t like being here. Having that mark on her hand. Now a scar on her chest. Forced to do things she wouldn’t have done on her own in a thousand years. She has loathed every minute of being here since the day we found her at the Conclave. I can’t find fault with her for it.” 

Cassandra gazed at him with that penetrating stare she had mastered so well he thought the Seekers must take classes in how to do it.

“I’m sorry, Cullen,” she said. “I failed you.”

“What are you talking about? The only person we’ve failed is…” He took a deep breath. “Ellana.”

“Because I missed it. I missed exactly how much you care for her.”

He knew she was being polite, using the word “care” instead of “love,” but they both knew what she meant. He could have denied it, but why bother. After all, it was true. He had allowed his carefully tended shell to crack, only to suffer immediately afterward—and that was nothing compared to what Ellana had gone through. He had to hope her feelings toward him had been much, much less intense than his own, but from what she had said, she had known what she was feeling for much longer than he had. 

“It is hardly your fault, when I have gone out of my way to avoid telling you about it.” 

“We’ll get through this, Cullen. All of us.” 

“You should go back to the house and get ready for the trip.” He smiled, but he suspected it looked like a grimace. “Maker keep all of you safe.”  

“If only for just this once,” Cassandra said.

~ O ~

While Ellana and her team were gone, the rebel mages flooded in from Redcliffe. Finding them a place to live and making sure they understood the rules of living in Haven was no easy task. In addition, Templars who could no longer deal with Lord Seeker Lucius’s increasingly bizarre pronouncements fled the Order’s base at Therinfal Redoubt and made their way to Haven as well. They brought stories of strange rituals, secret meetings, and an ominous red glow emanating from a basement laboratory. 

Ser Barris, the highest-ranking Templar who fled the Lord Seeker, told Cullen he suspected that much of the Templar Order was following not only the wrong path, but a bad path, and evil things were coming.

Cullen told Ser Barris he had been right to leave.

Josie wondered where they were going to find enough lyrium for all of them.

Solas planned the logistics of what the mages would do, what spells they would cast, what power they needed to bring to the Breach.  

Cullen oversaw the arrangements of where the mages would go in and around the ruins of the Temple, both to safeguard the Herald and to watch for enemies from the outside.

“Will you be guarding one of the mages?” Knight-Captain Rylen asked.  

“No,” Cullen said. He hadn’t tested his Templar abilities much since he had stopped taking lyrium, and he doubted they would be strong enough to counter the strength of a mage working at full power. “I will be supervising the entire thing.” 

He just didn’t allow himself to close his eyes.

~ O ~

Leliana sent word to the party in the Hinterlands as soon as Solas said they were ready, and two days later the Herald’s party returned.

Cullen watched them dismount in the stables. Vivienne said something to Ellana, who made a face and then looked down at herself before furiously brushing the road dust off of her. Sera pranced around, chattering, as she always did, throwing her arms around Dorian, who said something with his eyebrow arched before pushing the elven archer off of him. Ellana smiled at the soldier who picked up her bag and Cullen was happy enough to see her engage in at least that much interaction with someone. Even if it wasn’t him. 

Blackwall came out of his house by the smithy and said something to her. She nodded and held her hands up. Instead of continuing talking to the Grey Warden, though, Ellana headed back into town alone. She didn’t even wait for Dorian, who was spending an inordinate amount of time talking and laughing with the private who was taking his bags.

Cassandra brushed off her hands on her riding trousers and walked over to where Cullen stood.

“Well, that is one way to make the Herald eager to come back here to deal with the Breach. Make her spend two weeks with Sera in close quarters.” 

He chuckled. “She looks better. Happier, even.”

“She is,” Cassandra told him, and he felt the words inside his chest. “Calmer, at any rate. More centered. She even told a joke at the campfire last night.” She looked at him. “It wasn’t a particularly good joke. Maybe it’s funnier to elves.” 

“Is she ready to do this?”

“Can you be ready to do something no one’s ever done before?”

Cullen smiled and thought of how many things in his life fell under that rubric. “I suppose not. Solas says everything is ready. We’ll set off tomorrow.” 

Cassandra stared at him. “How are you doing?”

He had spent several nights contemplating taking the one vial of lyrium he carried everywhere. He had spent hours in the Chantry, wondering why when he tried to pray nothing happened. And more than once he asked himself how everything in his life kept getting so inordinately fucked up. 

“I’m as ready as ever,” he said. 

~ O ~

The ruins of the Temple of the Sacred Ashes were still magnificent: some walls still standing, corridors leading to nowhere, immense blocks of stone in their pathway as though tossed there by a giant baby with its toys. The day was cold but the sky was clear—except for the giant glowing, pulsing green Breach tearing across the heavens.

Solas directed all of the mages to where they should get set up and Knight-Captain Rylen, who had taken point on dealing with the Templars, distributed the few full-fledged knights they had around the chamber. They had been well-taught on what they should and shouldn’t do during the ritual. Under no circumstances were they to disrupt any of the proceedings unless _absolutely necessary_. Solas had evidently described what _absolutely necessary_ meant hundreds of times with them, and then Rylen had put it into terms the Templars would better understand.

Cullen took his position against the wall that faced the line of mages.

In the center of the room, Ellana conferred with Solas for a little while, their heads bent together. Ellana looked the apostate mage in the face, Cullen noticed. He tried to ignore how he felt about that.

He wanted to go back to ignoring how he felt about most things, dammit.

Solas brought his hand up to Ellana’s shoulder and squeezed, and she put her hand over his. A comforting gesture, to be sure. 

When Solas walked away, Ellana turned—and suddenly she was facing Cullen directly, looking straight at him.

He hadn’t seen the green of her eyes since…well, since the last time they had spoken, in the Chantry, when he had asked her to tell him what she had kept secret about Redcliffe Castle, about what the monstrous version of him had said while he tortured her. Ellana didn’t seem angry or scared as she gazed at him—she almost looked surprised. Like she hadn’t seen him in a while. Which he supposed she hadn’t, given that she had been in the Hinterlands for two weeks, avoiding him, avoiding the Inquisition, avoiding all of this.

He wanted to go to her. At least to put his hand on her shoulder, as Solas had, although of course he wanted to do far more than that. He wanted to put his arms around her, even here, with everyone watching.

All he could manage to do was nod at her. 

She gave him a little smile and nodded back, and then she turned away to take her place in the area Solas had set up for her in the center. 

The chanting began. The mages began chanting and marking points in the chant by slamming their staffs against the ground in perfect harmony. Ellana looked over her shoulder at Solas, who nodded once. She knelt in the center of the room, raised her left arm, and spread her fingers wide.

All at once, a tremendous rush of green energy flooded out of the heavens toward her. More than that, though, the energy was accompanied by a roaring noise that sounded not unlike the roar the day the Temple had exploded. It was so loud he couldn’t hear anything, and several of the mages chanting looked around wildly, having lost their place. 

Ellana’s body buckled under the weight of the Breach energy inundating her. She opened her mouth and might have been screaming, but he couldn’t tell. 

Every one of the dozens of mages involved stared at Ellana as they chanted. The Breach poured out of the heavens toward the Herald and the mages did they best to keep up with the ritual, even as the power of what was happening rolled over them and became overwhelming. The Templars too stared up at the Breach or watched what was happening with the Herald. 

Cullen felt completely helpless as he watched her, so he fell back on one thing he knew how to do: he watched the mages.

Almost immediately something seemed off to him. The mage at the end of the row, furthest away, caught his attention, so Cullen took a step forward to look closer.

The mage was a young man, only recently arrived in Haven with the rest of the rebel mages. Cullen remembered his name now: Peter. Peter Santangelo or Salango or something like that. So many new mages, more names to remember. Peter was very young and had never been in a Circle, had never had a Harrowing. 

Peter’s hand clutched his staff. His fingernails were glowing.

It could have been a trick of the light, either sunlight bouncing off the clouds, or the greenish flare from the Breach. 

But Cullen had attended too many Harrowings not to recognize what the sickly yellow light bursting from the edge of the mage’s fingernails meant. 

_Abomination._

This close to the Fade, the demons were probably far more powerful than they were, and possession was far more likely. 

If Peter completed the transformation, the Abomination would not only interrupt the Herald’s ritual, it would probably cause a chain reaction of mages turning into Abominations. And then everyone here would be dead within minutes. Possibly everyone for miles, including everyone they had left back in Haven.

No one near the young mage had noticed. Everyone, mage and Templar alike, was focused on the Breach, on the incredible rush of energy flowing down toward the Herald.

Cullen drew his sword. He had to be quick about this.

This was what the mages who came to Haven expected him to do anyhow, he thought.

In the entire chamber, the only person who noticed him pulling his sword was Rylen, next to him. Rylen shook his head and mouthed, “Ser?” 

Cullen pointed to his sword. 

Rylen knew better than to ask. He drew the blade and turned it so that Cullen could grasp the hilt with his left hand. Only then did Rylen turn to see what Cullen was focused on. Cullen only got a glimpse of Rylen’s look of horror before he began to run.

Cullen ran across the chamber, past where the Herald knelt under the force of the power coming down from the heavens. The energy from the Breach was warm, he realized. No, not warm: hot. As hot as a blacksmith’s forge. Did it always burn that hot when she closed a rift? Or was the Breach special in some way?

He ignored the energy of the Breach and zeroed in on Peter, whose skin had now taken on the ghastly yellow-green pallor. Whose eyes had begun to turn yellow and red. Whose mind—whose life—was most likely already gone.

Peter looked up and smiled, his teeth already melting into the demon’s shape. “You again,” he said, his voice not his own. A voice Cullen clearly heard over the Breach behind him.

Only at the last second did Solas tear his gaze off the Herald to see what was happening in the corner. He yelled something—Cullen couldn’t hear what—and lifted his hand to raise a shimmering shield between Peter and everyone else. Which led many of the others in the chamber to turn to see what was happening, and the screaming started. That, Cullen heard over the roar behind him.

Cullen had practiced this motion too many times to have to think about how to do it: the sword in his right hand sliced through the mage’s neck, severing the head from the body, and with the left he sliced down through the mage’s shoulder and across his rib cage.

The power of the transforming Abomination, this close to the Breach, was immense, and Peter’s body exploded under the strain. Cullen felt himself lifted off the ground and slammed against the nearby stone wall. The swords were blown out of his hands and his head knocked backward against the wall, painfully. As he slid down, he watched as Solas’s shield prevented the carnage from spreading much beyond Peter’s body. The blood and gore ricocheted off the invisible screen and vaulted back toward the ground around Peter’s body and where Cullen sat, stunned, still against the wall. 

The row of mages stared at him in various degrees of shock and horror.

Cullen didn’t have time to care. One by one, he checked their fingernails. None were glowing, so that was all right. He couldn’t stop checking, though.

“Commander?” Solas said. “Are you all right?”

“How much more?” he demanded. 

“Commander, sit down,” Solas said.

“How much longer?” he yelled.

“Cullen!” Cassandra said, running across the floor. Solas put out his arm to keep her from running onto the remains of the mage.

Cullen took his eyes off the mages, all of whom were staring at him, and he looked up at the heavens above them. For the first time in months what he mostly saw was sky. There was a slight tinge of green, as though something insubstantial had passed by. The giant, glowing Breach was gone.

“It’s over!” Cassandra told him. “Drop the sword! It’s over!” 

“The Breach is sealed,” Solas said. He held his hand up to the sky. “I need to check but— I believe it worked.”

Cheering erupted all around, first with the mages surrounding the Herald, then the soldiers who realized that it was over. 

In the center of the room, still standing by herself, Ellana was staring up at the heavens too, her right hand massaging the palm of her left. Cullen could see the moment it dawned on her that it was all over now. Her mouth widened in a smile, her shoulder relaxed backward, and her entire posture softened. The Breach was sealed. She had fulfilled the one thing they absolutely needed her to do before she left them.

No one came over to her, he noticed. She had just closed the giant tear into the Fade that had terrorized all off Thedas and none of the people celebrating madly were celebrating with her. 

To the Void with this. His heart was racing and he had just faced his worst nightmare— _again_ —and all he could think was how much he wanted to tell her how much what she had done meant to him. How much _she_ still meant to him. Even if she wasn’t going to listen or even care. 

He walked toward her. It wasn’t until he was within a few feet she seemed to notice someone near her. At first when she looked at him, her eyes widened and she smiled. And then her face fell. Seeing her retreat from him, only a little bit, dampened whatever relief he was feeling at the Breach’s closure.

“Herald, are you all —”

“Shut up, Commander!” the Herald yelled.

He hadn’t expected her to react so badly to his presence. She couldn’t do this, not here. Surely she understood why he had done what he did during the ceremony—if anything happened to her, all would be lost.

He shut up. 

“And close your eyes. Do it.” She turned to the healer standing nearby. “Pour water on that cloth and give it to me. Come on, be quick about it.” She looked back at Cullen. “I said _close your eyes_.”

He had no idea why she would ask that. But he shut his eyes anyhow. 

A second later he felt the cool, wet cloth wipe over one of his eyelids, then the other. Then after a moment she brought it across his mouth. 

“You’ve got blood everywhere. It’s in your hair. It’s dripping down your forehead. Creators, you’re covered in it.” Another sopping wet cloth wiped down one cheek, then the other. Then over one of his eyes again. “Keep your mouth closed, otherwise you’re going to have an unpleasant surprise in a moment.” She wiped across his lips and then up his cheek again.

He could feel her fingertips under the wet fabric, lightly grazing his skin.

The warmth of her touch was so close.

He should ask if she was all right. He should ask if all of them were all right. 

Instead, the only thing he could feel was her hand, and he turned his face just enough so her palm ended up cupping his cheek. 

Her hand froze, the cloth no longer moving. Why had he done that? She had made it quite clear she couldn’t stand being near him.

Then, lightly, her fingers pressed against his jaw. They spread apart and pushed in, making it quite clear to him she was deliberately caressing his face through the wet cloth.

After a moment more she wiped under his ear before her hand dropped away altogether. He opened his eyes to find her gazing at him as she handed off the bloody cloths to a nearby soldier.

“Thank you, Commander,” she said loudly. “Thank you for what you did just now.” She took another cloth, dripping wet, and wiped it over the blood spatter covering the pauldron on his left shoulder.

The sudden pain throughout his entire shoulder was excruciating. What had she done? Why did that hurt so much?

“Commander?” the Herald said. She moved closer to him and he had to steel himself not to step back from her. “What— You ran through the Breach energy, didn’t you? Healers!” she yelled. Two healing mages surrounded her and she shook them off. “Not me. Him. Quickly, get him out of this armor. He’s burned. Badly.” She shook her head at him. Maker, her green eyes were gorgeous when she was lighted up. She tugged on his arm to lead him over to one of the giant stones scattered around the area. “Sit down. Sit right there.” 

Cullen sat on the stone block. 

She snapped her fingers at the two Templars standing nearest. “Get him out of this mess. I haven’t the slightest idea how any of this hooks together. His shoulder’s burned— Do you read any of my reports, Cullen? Have I not told you what the energy from those rifts feels like?”

She had called him Cullen. He looked up at her as he tried to ignore the agony he felt when two Templars lifted the armor off his shoulder. One of the healers began cutting away the charred remains of his undershirt.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Cullen, good lord—I don’t like writing the reports in the first place. I’ll stop if no one’s reading them.”

He looked at his shoulder—the skin was fried red, almost black, and the pattern from his armor was lightly etched into the surface of his skin. He had barely registered the searing heat when he had run through it, because he’d been so focused on getting to the mage before the possession was complete. Now, however, her descriptions of the agony she felt when closing a simple rift came back to him.

Two healers pushed past her to begin weaving healing spells over the burned area. One of them handed him a healing potion, which he downed—still as bitter as ever, he noted. 

“I killed that mage,” he said.

“Yes, and it’s a damned good thing you did,” she said. 

“Here. In front of everyone. I killed a mage.” 

They had had so many discussions in the War Room about the tensions in Haven with so many mages around. And that was before Ellana made that alliance with the mages in Redcliffe, many of whom had come to Haven and complained about the presence of the feared Knight-Commander Rutherford from Kirkwall.

“I know, Cullen. You had to. Anyone says a thing to you about it, they can come see me. Or better yet, leave Haven entirely. No one will stop them going.”

But what about you? he wanted to ask. Will anything stop you from leaving?

As the healers applied ointment, he winced. The pain was endurable, he thought. It seemed like that was the scale by which he ranked everything these days: how hard was it to endure the pain.

As they rolled the gauze over his arm, he found it easier to ignore the agony by gazing at Ellana, who greeted everyone who dared come close to offer their congratulations. She thanked each of them too, insisting that the only way it could have succeeded was with them working together. 

She did not leave his side. She didn’t speak to him again, but she made it clear that what he had done was part of their success.

As the healers finished patching him up, the new skin in place, and he put on the shirt someone had found for him, Cullen looked upward, toward a sky that was finally clear of that terrifying rip into the Fade for the first time since the Conclave exploded. “It’s done, Herald. You closed the Breach.” 

She looked at him over her shoulder, directly at him. “My name’s Ellana. Perhaps in all the excitement you’ve forgotten.” 

After a moment, he shook his head. “No, believe me, I haven’t forgotten.” She smiled. “It’ll be easier to talk about this now that you’re fully dressed again.” 

He nodded. “Yes. Good point.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, the chapter title has a double meaning.
> 
> Also: I know. None of the Templars from Therinfal Redoubt are supposed to survive. I would seriously question any of the Templars who would stay there. I played Champions of the Just recently—what a mess that storyline was; I think Bioware assumed no one would ever choose the Templars' quest. Anyhow, we need more named Templars in stories, so Ser Barris gets to live.
> 
> And yes, I made up what might happen during an Abomination, but…they’re near the Breach! Anything can happen! Literary license!


	19. Corypheus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Breach is sealed, everyone is celebrating, Ellana finally gets over herself long enough to decide she wants to talk to Cullen (because what better time to do that than during a party, you know what I'm saying?) -- when the greatest buzzkill in Thedas shows up to ruin things. 
> 
> Just when Ellana decides what team she's on, a mountain drops on her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice stupidly long entry to send you off to the weekend *\o/* Lots of the dialogue here is from the game (although periodically I am reminded of how…uh…wooden some of the dialogue can be—kudos to the actors for saying it), but I did alter a few things.

When Ellana entered the gates of the town with the returning party, she was met with enthusiastic people kissing her cheeks and pulling her into giant bear hugs. Several children ran over with bouquets of flowers and one small boy clung to Ellana’s leg with a determination to attach himself usually seen only in pride demons.

The town had started celebrating well before those who had gone to the remains of the Temple returned. Everyone, it seemed, was already gathered in the main square in front of the Chantry. Musicians set up under a roof eave of a nearby building, and everyone had a stein in their hand to get some of the ale Flissa was handing out with abandon. Fires were set up to keep people warm, and dancing had broken out under the torchlight. 

They were happy, she thought. 

It took Ellana the better part of an hour to make it through the crowds all the way to the steps of the Chantry building. Once she got there, she wasn’t sure why, and then she realized: because that was the first place she always went when she returned to Haven.

It just felt so familiar to go there every day. 

It felt like home now.

That was…surprising. 

The day she had woken up after the Conclave explosion was more or less the first day of her life—she remembered parts of her life with her clan, but huge sections of her memory had been taken away for some reason, and with them who she was before. All she knew was now, and for the longest time she had yearned to go back to what she thought she must have been.

But that wasn’t true, she thought. This was her life now. It was just that toady she felt a little better about it than she had in a while.

She leaned against the barrier separating the Chantry entryway from the town square and looked into the sky, at the swirl in the clouds that was the only remnant of the Breach remaining. Maybe they had a right to feel so happy, to feel joy. Every moment of closing the Breach had been sheer, burning agony, but she had done it. It was gone. 

She allowed herself to feel the tiniest bit of pride in that.

Cassandra came up to stand beside her. “Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm. The Breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering rifts and many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

“ _Our_ heroism,” Ellana said. “You know how many were involved. Luck put me at the center.” She looked at her hand in its glove and felt the mark burn. “Well, some kind of luck at any rate.” 

Cassandra smiled. “A strange kind of luck. I am not sure if we need more or less. But you’re right. This was a victory of alliance. One of the few in recent memory. With the Breach closed, that alliance will need new focus.” 

“Ooo, what’s all this about luck?” Varric said. He put his stein on the flat top of the barrier and swung himself up and over. 

“We can use any sort of luck we can get,” Cullen said, from directly behind Ellana. 

His voice. She didn’t want to lie to herself: his voice still created the most delicious shivers on her body. She craved hearing him talk to her more than she was scared to be with him. 

“Well, I know what kind of luck most of these people want tonight,” Varric said. “And that means we’re in for a special kind of good fortune in the coming year.”

“What are you babbling about, Varric?” the Seeker asked. 

He lifted his stein and swept it at the entire crowd in front of them. “The population of the Inquisition is about to boom, Seeker.”

“Oh? Why is that? Because word of the Herald’s heroism is going to spread?”

The dwarf looked up at her. “Because in about nine months this place is going to be crawling with new little Inquisition members.” He elbowed Ellana in the side. “I hope you don’t mind lots of little Ellanas running around. Maybe throw in a couple of Cassandras.” He looked at Cullen. “Really hope no one picks Cullen.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Ach, Varric. You disgust me.”

“I’m just saying, it’s how people are…Herald, back me up on this.”

Ellana had picked up some time ago that Varric enjoyed teasing Cassandra with ribald comments every chance he got. For the longest time she thought it was because Cassandra was guaranteed to react with maximum annoyance. A few missions ago it finally had dawned on her that Varric might have had other, more personal reasons why. Varric had something of a crush on the Seeker, and the only way he could deal with it was to make jokes and create space between them. 

Ellana shook her head. “Oh, no, Varric. You’re not dragging me into your little dance on this one.” She glanced over to Cullen, who was scratching the scar on his lip to hide his smile. When their eyes met they both had to stifle laughs, both at Varric’s comment and the Seeker’s immediate discomfort with it. She suspected Varric was absolutely right about what would happen in a few months. Not that she could blame anyone for finally wanting to relax a little.

She wanted to take a moment or two off. Take a break from sending arrows at demons and feeling the Breach energy tear her apart and settling farmer disputes in areas of Thedas she had never set foot in before and hoped to never see again. She wanted to take the first night since this whole damnable thing began that day at the Conclave and be selfish. 

She looked at Cullen again and noticed he had lost his laugh too. And maybe for the same reason.

 _I certainly hope so_ , she thought.

She saw the hurt in his eyes and she knew he was blaming himself for something he hadn’t done—and now that the Breach was closed, most likely never would. The desire she felt for him before she left for Redcliffe hadn’t died—it had been put on hold while her mind tried to sort out what was real from what had never been. 

When they stood there in the ruins, after she closed the Breach, and she cleaned the blood off of him, all she could think was: _I hope it is not too late_. 

They needed to work on the other breach between them. She had to make the first move, she knew that. Cullen Rutherford and his ridiculous standards of proper behavior would ensure he never got within ten feet of her again.

“Seeker!” A man from the town—one of the carpenters, Ellana wasn’t sure of his name—came up and started to put his arm around her, but of Cassandra’s fierce glares stopped him mid-motion. “My family from Starkhaven arrived as soon you headed up to the Temple. They’d like to join the Inquisition, they’ve asked to meet you.”

“Always happy to welcome new recruits.” She threw Varric a squinty look before she followed Addal. 

Varric frowned as he watched her walk off. Then he checked his beer stein. “Well, I’d better refill this before all the rest of the beer’s gone.”

He headed off in the exact opposite direction.

Ellana looked around the square. The Iron Bull was in the middle of the Chargers, leading some kind of probably very dirty drinking song. Sera was snuggling up with one of the tavern waitresses, whose blush was evident from here. Blackwall had been cornered by one of the cannier widows in town—he managed to find one or twenty in every town they visited, so it was no surprise he did so in Haven as well. Solas was nowhere to be seen—praying somewhere, probably. Dorian was sidling close to a very handsome young soldier and probably thinking no one noticed him.

Cullen cleared his throat. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked, using his most polite, served tone.

“If you wade into that crowd, you’ll never get out again. Stay here.”

It took him a moment for him to comprehend she was inviting him to stay alongside her, and his eyes widened. “If you’re all right with that.”

“I would like it very much,” she said. Her gut flooded with energy at the realization she had nowhere else she wanted to be right now, no one else she wanted to celebrate this moment with. “We should find a moment to talk in private, Commander.”

“Cullen,” he said quickly.

“It’s a little noisy here, Cullen,” she said.

He moved into the shadows against the wall of the Chantry, out of the pools of light cast by the torches. She moved alongside him, having to stand a lot closer to see him clearly. He leaned against the wall briefly and then stood up again quickly. 

“Your shoulder is still burned?” she said.

“The healers took care of most of it, but it’s still sensitive. And Harritt managed to fix my armor already. Does closing a rift always feel like that?” 

“Like I’m trapped in a shower of fire that will never end? Yes, yes, it does. The Breach was thousands of times worse than most.”

“No wonder you all come back to Haven in such need of assistance,” he said.

“The others know not to go anywhere near the rift when I clear it, Commander.”

Both of them laughed. Then he said, “Cullen.”

“Right. Cullen.”

He reached down and picked up her left hand with his own, balancing it on his open palm. He wasn’t wearing the fur-lined gloves he usually seemed to have on, and his skin felt so warm beneath her own. “How is your hand?”

She had been so starved for the feeling of his skin on hers that she couldn’t figure out what he meant. “Oh, this old thing,” she joked. She didn’t want to pull away from their touch, so she used her right hand to unsnap the cover on her left. The mark glowed green and bright, lighting up both their faces. “The same as always, I’m afraid.”

“The feeling hasn’t changed since the ceremony?” Cullen asked her.

She flexed her fingers a few times before curling her hand in a ball, dousing the light. His fingers continued to hold the sides of her hand, loosely. “No. I thought it would be different. I had hoped closing the Breach would take it away. Return to whence it came, or something. But I’m not that lucky.”

“Perhaps after you close every rift,” he said.

She made a noise. “Then I’ll have it until I’m very old indeed. I’ll be talked to death by oblivious nobles and selfish townspeople long before I lose this.”

He laughed. He had a deep, infectious laugh. She wanted to hear it a lot more often. Then his serious expression returned. “And how is…the other…your other wound?” he asked.

She felt herself quaver at the thought. She had avoided him for the two weeks it took to prepare to seal the Breach because of what he—no, not him, the other him, the _monster_ —had done to her. She reached up to the neckline of her shirt and placed her hand over her heart. The wound was gone, and the skin almost completely clear. The only scar that was left was a very thin white line outlining his initials, visible only if a person knew where to look for it. “It’s better than it was. Seems to be healing, although more slowly. But it’s almost gone.” 

He touched his fingers to the back of her hand and it was like he had caressed her breast. She arched under him. He drew his hand away quickly, as though touching her had burned him. “I can’t stand the idea I would hurt you.”

“You didn’t. I know it wasn’t you. I shouldn’t have let it affect how we—how I see you.”

“Given what you described, it would be hard not to.” He cleared his throat and nodded, his hand still holding hers gently. “You have said for a while you would leave the Inquisition after the Breach was sealed.”

She had, hadn’t she. Several times. It had been all that kept her going some days— _after we seal the Breach, I am going home to my clan_ , she had said over and over. Now that moment was here. 

“There is still too much to do, isn’t there?”

His eyes widened. “How do you mean?” 

She looked out at the sea of people dancing and the musicians playing. A town full of people who had come together for one purpose, to work together. She was the Herald of Andraste and this was her home now, with these people. She glanced up at the scar in the sky, enough of a reminder that it wasn’t all over yet. That her mission wasn’t complete. “The rifts. The war between the mages and the Templars. All of the things the Herald represents.”

He nodded.

She shook her head. “All of that’s a complete lie. I’m not leaving for one simple reason:  this is where I live now. My life is…unrecognizable from what it was. If I go back to my clan, I’ll be a stranger there. I’m a stranger here too, but at least here I have a purpose.”

“You always have a purpose,” he said. “Just being alive is enough of a purpose, Ellana.”

She looked out at the wild drinking and dancing going on in the town square. “Do you think other places are celebrating?”

“I think most of Thedas has probably gone crazy tonight,” Cullen tonight. “Because of you.”

“Do you want to go out and join them?”

He chuckled. “No. No, I would much rather stay here with you.”

“That works out well for me. Perhaps we should try to have that talk now.”

When she spoke the words, she honestly meant they should talk. It seemed like every time they tried to have any sort of conversation, they got interrupted.

Actually, when they tried to do _anything_ together, they got interrupted.

And at the thought of them doing things together, she remembered the feel of him pinning her up against the wall of the stables while he kissed her and told her what he wanted to do to her in the next day, in the forest. She could feel the warmth spread in her cheeks and she glanced up at him.

He stared straight into her eyes. 

He must have had thoughts along the exact same lines. 

He stared at the ground. “Ellana—”

She put her hand on his arm. “I do mean _talk_ , Cullen.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I know. I know you do.”

The two of them stared at one another for what seemed like a long time. Probably just ten seconds, but it was a long ten seconds. She wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest if he leaned over to kiss her, she thought. Maybe she should help him along in that decision. 

And then the bells started ringing. Every bell in every guard tower around Haven. 

Without a word, Cullen walked past Ellana to the barrier between the Chantry and the town square to look out beyond the walls of the town.

The music playing died down, and one by one the people in the square stopped talking and laughing long enough to stare at the Commander. To find out what their reaction should be.

“Forces approaching! To arms!” he yelled. And then he began running toward the front of Haven. 

Cassandra leaped on to the nearest table as chaos broke out among the townspeople. Soldiers who had spent a moment off-duty were scrambling to find their gear. “We must get to the gates!”

Ellana pushed her way through the mass of soldiers heading toward the town gates. Josephine, in her colorful finery, was buffeted back and forth by the masses either heading toward the gates to defend the town or to their quarters to hide from whoever was attacking. Ellana reached out and grabbed Josephine with both arms, pulling her to the side. 

“Thank you,” Josephine said. Her voice was cracking with fear.

“Come on,” Ellana said, and she pulled the smaller woman after her, then lifted her on to the wall lining the pathway out of town. 

Together they ran to where Cullen and Cassandra stood at the top of the stairs that led out. 

He stared at the sea of torches that flooded toward the town. “One watch guard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.”

“What banner?” Josephine asked.

“None,” he said curtly.

“None?” she said.

The massive wooden gates of Haven began to bang rhythmically, a large force behind it. 

“Are they here already?” Ellana asked.

“Can’t be,” Cullen said.

Ellana could hear a voice shouting over the gates. “I can’t come in unless you open!” a young male cried. 

She didn’t recognize the voice, but it certainly didn’t sound like someone from the attacking force. She dashed to the gates to pull them open.

“Herald!” Cullen yelled at her.

“Yes, Commander?” she replied. 

“Do. Not. Open. That. Gate.”

Ten minutes ago she wanted to drag him back to her quarters and he would have let himself be dragged there.

Ten minutes…or ten centuries. Didn’t matter. That moment was gone. He was right back to being the Commander.

Too bad. She was the Herald.

She struggled with unhooking the bar until one of the nearby soldiers helped her shove it off the rails.

One of the gate doors swung open, and Ellana realized perhaps the Commander had been right that she shouldn’t open the gates.

Because right in front of the doors stood the largest knight in head to toe mail she had ever seen in her entire life. Much, much taller than Cullen. His faceplate was closed, so she couldn’t even tell what race he was, let alone anything else about him. He held a sword taller than she was.

And then he pitched forward like a statue, completely dead.

Behind him stood a young man. A boy, even, but Ellana couldn’t make out his face behind his large floppy hat. Tufts of straw blond hair poked out from the sides of the hat. He wore no armor, just a cheap homespun tunic and leggings over his lean body. He held two daggers out and then reholstered them when he saw Ellana.

“I’m Cole,” the young man said, in his soft voice. 

She had trouble believing this sylphlike youth had defeated the giant lying in the snow beside her. 

But it certainly seemed as though that was what had happened. 

“I came to warn you,” Cole said. “To help. People are coming to hurt you. You probably already know.”

Ellana heard several people running up behind her. She recognized Cassandra’s even footfalls and the Commander’s much heavier ones.

She looked down at the giant knight. “What is this?” She turned back to Cole—still couldn’t make out a thing about him, other than he was thin as a rail and apparently intensely deadly. “What’s going on?”

Cole bowed his head, almost completely disappearing behind the large floppy hat. “The Templars come to kill you.”

“Templars!” Cullen thundered.

Cole seemed to turn toward Cullen, although it was hard to tell where he was looking with that damned hat. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One. You know him?” He turned back toward Ellana. “He knows you. You took his mages.”

Then the boy lifted his arm and pointed toward a hill in the distance, where the torches of the oncoming army had risen over the crest. “There.” 

Ellana could just make out the form of a man in armor. No, she thought, not just armor, Templar armor. Only his armor was wrong, with red metal where regular Templars’ armor was painted blue. He looked young and determined and very strong. 

When he turned his head toward her, she gasped. She recognized him now—his face had been the third out of the four faces on the cloak worn by the monstrous version of Cullen in Redcliffe.

She didn’t have time to think about that, though, because over the hill walked one of the worst nightmares Ellana had ever seen. An obscene distortion of a man, arms and legs stretched in inhuman ways, and his face—

_What was wrong with his face?_

His head was malformed, as though he were wearing a helmet that was badly aligned and weighted. And he seemed to glow with a deathly red light that was coming out of—

He had red lyrium growing out of his body. This monster was no man—he was both a creation and destruction of red lyrium, something unholy walking the ground, leading this army.

And he stared straight at her. 

“I know that man,” Cullen said. “And this Elder One.”

“He’s very angry you took his mages,” Cole said to Ellana.

Ellana damped down her immediate response, which was “No fucking kidding.” Instead, she felt the panic rising in her stomach as she turned to Cullen.

“Give me a plan! Anything!” she pleaded.

He just kept staring out at the sea of torches. She could tell he had the entire thing mapped out in his head, just like the map they had on the War Table—where everyone in Haven was, what they had, where the armies were. 

He looked at her. Whoever she had been talking to earlier in the evening was gone. “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force with everything you can.”

And then he turned away, as though she were completely forgotten. She probably was. He had given her her orders and was moving on. Now he faced the Redcliffe mages, who were clustered near the top of the hill inside the town walls.

“Mages! You have sanction to engage them. That is Samson, he will not make it easy.”

He turned back toward the oncoming army.

“Inquisition! With the Herald! For your life! For all of us!”

Ellana started running and then wondered, _Get out there and hit them with what?_ She wasn’t a mage. She had her bow and arrows, not that she had ever had enough arrows in her entire life to handle the number of Templars heading their way.

And then she realized she was staring at the answer. The trebuchets. 

She sprinted down the road toward the nearest trebuchet, which she had looked at almost every day for months and never given a second thought to. Where was it aimed? She would get one blow and had to make it count. 

“You keep them busy, Bright Eyes, we’ll aim the trebuchet,” Varric said.

She turned around to find Varric, Cassandra, Bull, and Dorian behind her. 

“You keep them busy, dwarf, _I’ll_ aim it,” Cassandra said, shoving Varric out of her way.

The Iron Bull opened one of the weapons chests stashed by the trebuchet. Unfortunate that the weapons were out here, rather than with the soldiers behind the walls, but there was nothing they could do about it now. “Boss!” he yelled, and he took out a perfectly serviceable bow and a quiver of arrows.

“Have I ever told you you’re my favorite Qunari?” Ellana asked.

“Save the flirting for after we survive this,” Dorian said, and he sent a fire bolt down the road toward two approaching warriors.

“Need help there, Seeker?” Varric yelled.

“Yes!” she replied through gritted teeth.

The dwarf hopped up on the trebuchet bed to help Cassandra turn the rotating platform just a few feet more. Ellana stood in front of the two of them, mercilessly whipping arrows into anything within range. 

“It’s ready!” Cassandra said.

“Everybody! Head back, now!” Ellana yelled. “That’s an order.”

She let loose with the last few arrows from the weapons cache and then dropped the bow and quiver off of her body. Then she fell against the massive handle that controlled the giant siege weapon. 

The handle fell underneath her and she rolled to the side of the trebuchet bed, feeling the tremors as the weight dropped and the massive arm flipped back. From where she lay, she watched as the great weight in its scoop flew toward the oncoming army.

No, it flew over the heads of the oncoming army.

What in the hell had Cassandra done, aiming it where she did? The trebuchet hadn’t hit anyone, it wasn’t killing—

Oh.

The giant rock sailed over the heads of the oncoming army, only to slam into the side of the mountain behind them.

Setting off an avalanche that rolled forward quickly and mercilessly, wiping out everyone and everything in its path. 

Ellana allowed herself to yell in triumph as she hopped to her feet and turned around. “Gods, you’re smart, Cass—”

She was alone. 

Everyone else was gone.

Well, she had ordered them to leave her, hadn’t she?

She hadn’t expected they would listen, though. 

She turned back toward the great rush of snow that was decimating Samson’s oncoming army. The Inquisition stood a much better chance now of fighting these Templars off, even if the bulk of their forces were mages. There were many fewer Templars to cut the power of the mages. 

Then the moon overhead disappeared and the night went black.

Ellana looked up, wondering what could have darkened the sky so completely on a night with such bright moonlight.

She felt air flapping down on her from high overhead.

The moon reappeared, its light showing her what was in the skies.

Flying overhead was a dragon.

She had heard tales of them. Seen pictures. She knew there were a great many strange and awesome things she had never seen herself, but she had never truly believed that dragons existed.

Until now.

It was gigantic. It was as large as a ship on the Waking Sea and that had been the largest thing Ellana had ever seen that could move. Its scales seemed to be black until the moonlight glanced off an edge and then they seemed to be green. Its eyes were giant and yellow and as the dragon glided through the skies the eyes kept searching the ground below.

Until they focused on her. 

She leaped off the trebuchet and ran, just as a roar came rushing down through the air behind her. The blast of heat sucked all of the air out of her lungs, and a giant flaming chunk of trebuchet crashed down on to the road right in front of her. She vaulted over it, sprinting toward the gates of Haven even as her lungs burned to open up. 

Everyone else was inside the walls, she noticed.

The only person still at the gates was Cullen. Waiting for her. 

She opened her mouth to take a deep gulp of air before telling her legs to move faster than they ever had in her entire life. 

A dragon was much worse than a pack of Templars ever had been. 

Cullen grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. He slammed the gates shut behind her as she dropped to her hands and knees, trying to catch her breath. She found herself being wrenched to her feet and staring him in the face.

“We need everyone back the Chantry,” he told her. 

She was having such a hard time thinking straight she wondered if they were holding services now. Her confusion must have shown.

“It’s the only building that might hold against that beast,” he said. 

Everyone in town was flooding toward the giant stone walls of the Chantry. Ellana looked up to the heavens and saw the giant black wings of the dragon flapping. The dragon was circling, preparing to strike. 

He had noticed too. “At this point, we just make them work for it.” 

Ellana and Cullen herded the last few people in town through the Chantry doors. When she fell through, she was surprised to find Chancellor Roderick, of all people, shooing people in, the strange young man Cole by his side. “Move! Keep going!” the old man said. “The Chantry is your shelter.” 

He collapsed against Cole, who held up the larger man easily. “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep.” The floppy hat tilted up. “He’s going to die.”

“What a charming boy,” Chancellor Roderick said.

Overhead Ellana heard the flapping of wings as the dragon passed by

Cullen bolted the doors of the Chantry shut and then fell back. The blast of heat reached her a second later. He turned, his expression more grim than she had seen it in some time. “Herald, our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.” 

Cole shook his head. “I’ve seen an archdemon. I was in the Fade but it looked like that.”

“I don’t care what it looks like,” Cullen snapped. “It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village,” Cole said, as though that were perfectly obvious. He lifted his arm and pointed at Ellana. “He only wants the Herald.”

There were two things Ellana was absolutely certain of at that moment: one, Cole was not part of the attacking army, and two, he knew precisely what was going through the head of the monster leading it. Somehow he was connected.

“If you know why he wants me, just say it,” she said.

“I don’t. He’s too loud. It hurts to hear him. He wants to kill you. No one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway.” Cole shook his head. “I don’t like him.”

Cullen muttered under his breath. “You don’t like—Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

What he was suggesting was suicide.

The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces really did not think they had a chance against this army now.

But he wasn’t choosing. He was asking her to make the decision to destroy Haven. To kill everyone here rather than surrender to the monster out there.

“To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven,” she said.

He nodded. “We’re dying. But we can decide how.” The side of his mouth tilted upwards. “Many don’t get that choice.”

If she was going to make this decision, she had to do it now. They were going to die. Did they risk trying to take out the attacking army as well?

Cole cleared his throat. “Yes, that,” he said, as if answering her question. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Roderick, clutching Cole’s hand…chuckled. He looked up at the Commander. Of course he turned to Cullen. Everyone turned to Cullen at a moment like this. Even she wanted to, and instead he was asking her to make the hard decision.

“There is a path,” the Chancellor rasped. “You wouldn’t know it. Unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.”

Cullen clearly had no idea what the old man was talking about. She definitely didn’t.

Chancellor Roderick. She had taken an instant dislike to the man, and he certainly had never liked her. Of course he had to interrupt the last conversation she got to have with Cullen, in which they got to plan everyone’s death. Exactly what she had come to expect from the Chancellor. 

“What are you on about, Roderick?” she said, irritated. 

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start, it was overgrown.” His tone turned wistful, clearly envisioning that day so many years ago. “Now with so many in the conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know.”

He raised his head to look directly at Ellana. “If this simple memory could save us, it may be more than mere accident. You could be more.”

Maybe everyone in Haven didn’t need to die. Roderick could show them the way. And Cullen would single-handedly force everyone to march up that path until his lungs gave out. She knew that. 

No, not everyone in Haven needed to die. 

But one person had to stay here, to set off the trebuchet.

“What about it, Cullen?” she said. Only after she said it did she realize she used his name. “Will it work?”

“Possibly. If he shows us the path. What of your escape?”

She tried to smile at him. It didn’t work very well. She shook her head instead.

He gazed at her. Resigned to the inevitable. “Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way.”

What she could do besides shrug at that? Sure, anything was possible.

He turned toward the back of the Chantry. “Inquisition! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry. Move!”

Ellana looked back toward the Chantry doors, realizing she had to go back out there. Back toward the dragon. Back toward that monster. 

Better her than all of them. 

She looked at the glowing green mark in the palm of her left hand. “Why me?” wasn’t worth asking any more. She didn’t have time for questions that had no answer.

Chancellor Roderick grabbed her wrist. “Herald, if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this, I pray for you.”

Every single time she had ever dealt with the man, all he had offered her was undiluted malice. But now, in this moment, he had used her nickname, the title he had regarded with such disdain. Now he used it with respect. 

She nodded and then Cole led him away, toward the back of the Chantry. 

Cullen put his hand on her arm, startling her. She looked up to see him flanked by four young soldiers. “I’m sending them out with you. They’ll load the trebuchets.”

She looked at the young men. They were going to die and they knew it. She nodded. 

“Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the treeline. If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

She looked him in the eye. “I will. And Cullen?”

“Yes?”

“Whatever happens here, _whatever_ he offers you…he can’t bring me back. Do you understand? He can’t do it.”

Cullen stared at her. “This is what you wouldn’t tell me about Redcliffe.”

After a moment, she nodded.

“Get moving, Curly,” Varric said. 

The Inner Circle walked up behind the four soldiers. All of them: Varric, the Iron Bull, Dorian, Vivienne, Sera, Blackwall, Solas, and Cassandra.

“What, you’re taking all the glory on this one?” the dwarf said. “No, sorry, I need tavern songs sung about me too.”

Ellana knew why he was making jokes: to keep her from bursting into tears right there and then. “Vivienne, Sera, Blackwall, you go with the people up the mountain. Sera, shoot anything that…shoot anything. Blackwall, keep the people together, and Vivienne, keep them warm.”

Blackwall shook his head. “We’re not leaving you.”

“Am I taking a vote? Go. Now.” She pointed to Dorian and Solas. “Your job is to burn or freeze anything that comes within fifty feet of these soldiers. Got it? Anything. Cassandra, Bull, Varric, your job is to cut down anything that comes within fifty feet of Dorian and Solas. Everybody know what to do? Good. Let’s go.” She put her hand on the door handle of the Chantry. It was still warm. She looked over her shoulder to her team. “Move it!”

She yanked the door open and they ran out into the snow of the town square. 

A quick glance toward the front of Haven showed that the gates were open and Red Templars poured through. 

They might just have enough time to set up the trebuchet at the far end of town.

“Double-time!” she yelled, and the soldiers jogged in formation with her. Her Inner Circle provided them with cover. 

She stood on the trebuchet to provide them with the last line of defense as they loaded the heavy metal weight into the scoop of the siege weapon. She could see Cassandra and the others being driven back toward the trebuchet, valiantly trying to hold the line. But against forces of this number, it was like holding back the ocean. 

“How long?” she demanded. 

“Have to set the counterweight, ser,” said one of the soldiers. His voice was completely bland, as if the world weren’t ending around them.

She assumed that was the sort of thing Cullen drilled into them, day in and day out. What a time to find out exactly how good he was at his job. 

“Done!” the soldier said. “Where do you want it to go? Not sure we can hit that dragon.”

“We’re not aiming for the dragon,” she said. She looked over her shoulder at the nearby mountain and then lifted her arm to point. “See that snowpack?”

“That avalanche will destroy Haven, ser,” he said.

“That’s an order, soldier,” she told him, and then she turned back around to send arrows flying into as many of the Red Templars as she could. 

She could feel the rotation bay underneath start to creak as the soldiers began to crank the wheel around to aim the weapon.

Dorian’s back hit the wheel of the trebuchet. “A miracle would not go unappreciated right now, Herald.”

Varric somersaulted to get out of the way of three oncoming Red Templars. “What’s the plan, Bright Eyes?” he yelled.

“Done!” one of the soldiers yelled.

“Are you certain?” Ellana said. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “Are you _absolutely_ certain?”

He nodded at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

Cassandra sliced the head off a Red Templar Horror and ran to the trebuchet. “Launch it! Now!” 

Ellana blocked the soldier who was reached for the lever. “Everybody back to the Chantry. I want you on Roderick’s path with the others.” 

“And where will you be, Boss?” Bull asked.

“Waiting here for the Elder One. He wants me. Not you. He won’t kill me immediately but you lot are as good as dead if you stay. Go now and I can buy some time. Not telling you a third time.” She lifted her bow to shoot a Red Templar who was within striking distance of Solas’s back.

Solas nodded at her. “Be well, _da’len_.” 

“I’ll be better as soon as I see your backs running away from me,” she told him. She turned to the soldiers on the platform with her and pointed to the others. “Drag them to the Chantry. Maim them if you have to but keep them moving.”

Red Templars surged into Haven, and the path back to the Chantry was almost shut off, but Dorian and Solas managed to burn or freeze everyone who came near them. 

As she suspected, the Red Templars flooded around her, swords and pikes out and pointing at her—but none of them approached her. Kept her penned in and trapped, yes. But none of them would dare be the ones to kill her.

What was it the strange young man had said? _He only wants the Herald._  

Sure enough, the sea of Red Templars parted as the monstrous, ungainly creature only barely recognizable as human stalked into Haven. He had red lyrium growing out of the side of his head, his neck, his fingertips. Whatever he had once been, he was now a corruption so foul it was difficult to look at him. 

Ellana raised her bow.

The monster raised his hand and the bow flicked out of her hands as if it were a paper in the wind. “Enough! Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.” Even his voice sounded unnatural and unworldly.

The dragon passed overhead, the force of its wings rattling the trees and forcing the Red Templars to shield themselves from the gusts. Then the beast glided in for a landing and the Templars scattered in order to make room. A few didn’t make it, squishing like fat bugs underneath the dragon’s claws. Its scaly head turned toward Ellana and it leered at her with its great yellow eyes.

The monster with the head of red lyrium patted the dragon’s snout. One puff of fire from that dragon and both she and the trebuchet would go up in smoke. She had to keep him talking.

“Who are you?” she yelled. “Why are you doing this?” 

“Mortals beg for truth they cannot have. It is beyond what you are. What I was. Know me, know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One. The will that is Corypheus.”

So. This was the Elder One. His name was Corypheus. The destroyer who wreaked havoc on the future was this red lyrium corrupted monster.

“ _You will kneel_ ,” the creature roared at her.

She shrugged. “Better looking guys than you have tried that line on me.” 

Corypheus raised his staff. “You will resist. You will always resist. It matters not. I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

The Anchor?

Corypheus’s arm shot out, his hand curled in a symbol that she felt call up eons of an ancient, evil magic. 

The green mark on her hand flared and sputtered, worse than any day since the first one. Pain shot through her whole body as the mark— _the Anchor_ —tried to rip itself out of her flesh and fly to him. Except it could not dislodge itself from her hand, her body, her entire self.

Corypheus dropped his hand. He squinted at her, as if wondering why an insignificant little shitstain like her was still standing with the force of his might directed at her. 

To be honest, she was wondering the same thing.

He shook his head slowly, the red lyrium leaving light trails in the night. 

“It is your fault, Herald. You interrupted a ritual years in the planning. And instead of dying, you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as touched, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

His arm shot out again, the symbol formed by his fingers sending bolts of pain and agony through every fiber of her being. This time, however, the mark in her hand didn’t yearn to return to him—it burrowed into her skin, down into her soul, as if using her to hide from him.

“And you used the Anchor to undo my work. The gall!” he yelled at her.

She stumbled backward against the edge of the trebuchet, the pain still flashing through every part of her body, and she stared at the light in her hand. “What is this thing meant to do?”

 “It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you, the certainty that I would always come for it. I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption, dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused. No more. I have gathered the will to return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the Gods and it was empty.”

Fantastic. A crazed, corrupted, monster from _Tevinter_. She wondered if Dorian knew anything about this Corypheus. She wondered if Dorian had made it to the Chancellor’s summer pilgrimage path. If any of them had.

“ _They sent an elf to face a god?_ ” he screamed.

“Well, when you need to send the very best,” she said.

For a third time Corypheus unleashed a hellish force on her. The magical power lifted her body off the ground and bashed her against the solid leg of the trebuchet’s main structure. But this time the mark in her hand didn’t even react to the call of his power, instead glowing inside her, as though it had always been a part of who she was

“The Anchor is permanent,” Corypheus sneered. “You have spoilt it with your stumbling.”

Ellana felt a block of metal against her leg. She glanced down. The hilt of a sword. The very thing she would never have learned to use back in the Free Marches. The skill she had because Cullen and Cassandra decided she needed it. Against all odds, Ellana was one of them. She was part of this Inquisition, this town, and this world.

This godsdamned Tevinter monster wasn’t going to take that away from her.

“So be it,” Corypheus said. “I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation and God it requires.”

She forced herself to her feet, clutching the sword in her right hand. Corypheus watched her get to her feet, and he chuckled as she shook, unable to stand still. 

In the distance, far up the side of the hill, she saw the signal. The flare of a dozen arrows shooting up into the sky and separating into a fan of fire. 

They had made it. The Chancellor’s path had worked. The people of Haven had made it above the tree line. Cullen had done it. She felt a warmth begin to spread throughout her chest at the very thought of him.

Corypheus shook his head. “And you. I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

She raised the sword, and Corypheus laughed. She smiled back at him.

“We’ll see about that, arsehole.”

She slashed the sword down on the controls of the trebuchet, launching the counter-weight to spin around and send the scoop with the missile toward the side of the mountain.

Corypheus and his dragon watched the flight of the weight. 

And then they turned back to look at her.

She stood there and watched the weight fly. Watched it hit the snow. Watched the snow cascade down like the white curls of water on a river. A river headed directly toward her. It was beautiful, really, so large and fierce, the way it swept up trees and boulders in its path as though it were a giant white broom come to clean up the mess.

A mountain was rushing down toward her.

She closed her eyes and waited for it to arrive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finish Act One.
> 
> WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I HAVE TWICE THIS MUCH TO GO? [falls over, possibly dead]


	20. Finding Ellana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Cullen and Cassandra find Ellana and get her back to their camp. Because that's not a thing they expected they would have to do.

Cullen stood on the cliff overlooking the town of Haven, waiting for the last person in the march to pass him. Then he looked down the row of archers next to him.

“Prepare to fire,” he said.

The archers loaded the large arrows, the tips dipped in pitch, into their arrows.

When the two young men carrying a stretcher with their grandmother passed him, he turned to the archers beside him.

“Fire,” he said.

A mage standing next to them threw out a fire bolt to light all of the arrows simultaneously. Then the archers bent backwards. Cullen could feel the blaze of heat from where he stood. He couldn’t imagine how hot it had to be for the archers.

“Now!” Cullen yelled, and the archers fired.

The lighted arrows shot up into the sky, their arrowheads flaming. And as they climbed, the fire spread down the shafts, creating a larger and larger spray of light.

_One one thousand two one thousand three one thousand_

“Ser?” the lieutenant said.

“Go. Join the others. Help anyone who can’t make the climb themselves,” Cullen ordered. 

_Six one thousand seven one thousand_

Some of the arrows, still alight, burned out. Others buried themselves in the snow.

Cassandra stood beside him on the cliff. “Anything yet?” When he shook his head, she said, “She’s only had a moment.”

 _Eleven moments, actually_ , he thought. _Dammit._

And then he saw it, a tiny speck of movement against the field of snow beneath them. 

Ellana had survived long enough to launch the trebuchet.

“Is that—” Cassandra said.

The tiny speck of black slammed into the mountain that stood next to Haven. And in response, some snow began to slide.

Then more snow joined the fall.

And then the side of the mountain gave way and years of accumulated snow began rumbling toward the town below, an immense flood of white cascading downward. Gathering momentum.

“Cullen, come on,” Cassandra said.

The avalanche wiped out hundreds of trees, clearing out a path miles wide as it headed down. They could hear the thundering of tons of snow and rock rolling down the mountain.

“Why are you watching this?” she asked,

Cullen didn’t take his eyes off the soft, gentle roll of thousands of tons of hard cold snowpack slide toward Haven. “She managed to survive long enough to set off that trebuchet,” he said. “This is the very least I could do.”

The avalanche rolled forever on its way down the slope. But when it reached Haven it simply spread across the landscape in a blink. One second the town was there. The next it was not. There was a carpet of thick, untouched snow that might have lay there for a thousand years. 

It would take a hundred men a month of digging to reach the tops of what had been the walls of the town.

“She knew what was going to happen,” Cassandra said.

“Did she? Does that somehow make it easier?” He turned to her. “How are we doing with shelter?”

“The scouts found some empty caves we can crowd into, so we’ll be out of the snowfall.”

He nodded and stepped off the ledge. 

Then he took one last look down at the valley, the clean and unbroken field of white, before following Cassandra up the path.

Finding shelter against the winds and snow was not as difficult as the logistics of moving hundreds of people up the mountain. Most of the refugees were Inquisition soldiers and were young enough and strong enough to help the others, but there were broken arms and legs to spare. Not to mention how they were going to feed all these people, with no supplies.

Cullen looked at the people huddled around the large fires that had been set up at the makeshift camp and it was all he could do to stop the damn shaking in his hands. Although the tremors were easier to explain than the sweats. Everyone was freezing and he was burning up in front of all of them.

He gathered the best trackers he had and explained what they needed to look for at first light. When they assured him they understood, he dismissed them, and then picked a spot far from the fires to sleep. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was waves of white, rolling downward.

He was up at daybreak, reminding the trackers where to look, how far to risk going, and when to return. “If you don’t find anywhere suitable for this number of people, we try again tomorrow. Don’t be stupid and push beyond your limits.”

They saluted and took off, splitting off in three directions. They all returned by midmorning. One had found nothing, one had found another series of caves and evidence of recent bear activity in the area, and one had found a large area curtained off from the wind in three directions.

Cullen turned to the squad leaders in charge of getting groups of refugees moving and taking care of. “Follow him,” he said, pointing to the third tracker. He sent a patrol of twenty men with the second tracker to hunt down the bears.

They were settled in the new camp by sundown. A patrol came back from the caves with two large bears strung on poles that all twenty men struggled to carry.

Bear meat. No one’s favorite, but there wasn’t a lot of choice up here.

He sat against the wall farthest from the largest fire. The town’s cooks had quickly stripped and dressed the bears, getting haunches roasted and ready to serve within an hour. Despite the smell of the roasting meat, he wasn’t able to eat, but sooner or later someone was going to hand him a plate of food and he would have to pretend to eat something someone else could actually benefit from consuming.

Cassandra hiked toward him and urged him to get up and follow her. “Come with me. Now.”

“What?” he said.

“On your feet,” she ordered him.

He forced himself to stand. “Maker’s breath, I’m exhausted, Cassandra. Can this wait?”

“ _Now_ , Rutherford,” she said.

Cassandra didn’t take him to the food, though. She took him to the fire where the odd boy, Cole, sat, his face hidden by shadows and that damned floppy hat. Cole had talked nonstop the entire march, and it hadn’t taken very long for everyone to figure out he was telling secrets. Other people’s secrets. Their innermost thoughts.

Cullen had kept as far away from him as he could. He didn’t think he could stand to have the very dark thoughts plaguing him spoken aloud. He knew the people he was leading out of here definitely did not want to hear what he really thought.

And now Cassandra headed straight to him. 

He thought he might take out his sword and run the young man through if Cole started repeating any of what was going through Cullen’s mind.

“Cassandra,” Cullen muttered.

“Shut up and _listen_ , Cullen.”

Cole’s head gently swayed back, the hat still protecting his face from view. “It’s so cold, so cold.”

Cullen glared at Cassandra, who held up a finger over her mouth.

“These embers…they’re burned out. I’m too late. Which way did they go?…The green fire, always so hot, always so loud, now it’s quiet and cold. My hand is so quiet.”

Green fire. Hand.

No. No, Cole could not be saying—

“I found their things but not them,” Cole said. “And the green light doesn’t keep me warm now.”

Cullen looked over at Cassandra, who mouthed: _She’s alive_.

Cole’s head fell back, and still the brim of his hat hid his face. “I need to sleep. I’ll sleep and then I’ll follow. It’ll be light in the morning.” 

Cassandra grabbed Cullen’s hand and pulled him away from Cole. “Where’s the last place we built a fire?”

“The ridge we stopped at mid-day.”

“Which is where, precisely?” she asked.

“I know where it is. I’ll go.”

“I’ll go,” Cassandra said. “You’re hardly able to stand.”

“No one is in any fit shape to do anything, Cassandra. And you expect you can carry her all the way back up here?” he asked. When she didn’t respond, he signaled to Knight-Captains Bailey and Harrington, who ran over. “The Seeker and I are setting out. If we don’t return by morning, do not send anyone after us. Get these people out of here. Keep going toward Orzammar.”

The Knight-Captains saluted. 

Going down a mountain was hundreds of times more difficult than going up one, because with every step you had to fight the pull of gravity down the incline, instead of working with it. The path the hundreds of people had trod through only a few hours before was already covered by new snowfall, and their only guide down the mountain were the branches soldiers had broken off, and the bits of fabric tied to trees here and there.

The sun was setting by the time they returned to the camp they had stopped in at midday. And there was nothing there, as far as they could see.

Ellana was not there.

Cole was wrong.

Of course he was. It was mad to suggest Ellana could have survived that avalanche.

Cullen kept looking around.

It was getting dark, it had snowed, and they hadn’t stayed in this area long. Cullen could barely remember what it looked like. Cole had said something about the embers.

“Where did we set the fires?” Cullen asked.

Cassandra looked around, trying to orient herself. “There. By the rock wall.”

Cullen tramped over toward the dark, forbidding wall near the drop off. There was nothing here except rocks covered with snow.

Except for this patch, which was much darker than the surrounding area.

He knelt in the snow and brushed it aside.

The fingers of the hand were blue, the palm was encased in a dark brown fingerless glove.

Ellana was here.

Ellana had survived long enough to get here.

Cullen did not use the word “miracle” lightly, but he knew one when he saw one. 

“Cassandra!” he yelled. He dug his hands into the snow, making certain she wasn’t locked in ice before trying to roll her over.

Cassandra knelt on Ellana’s other side. “Great Andraste, she’s here!” she said.

Her face was pale, almost bloodless. Her eyes were shut and her lips almost white. Her nostrils were blocked with snow.

“Is she breathing?” 

“I can’t tell,” Cullen said. He removed one of his gloves and rubbed his hand on her face. Her skin was so intensely cold. He took off the other glove and rubbed both cheeks. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing. He worked his fingers into her mouth and pushed her jaw open. He bent over and forced his breath into her mouth. After waiting a second, he tried a second time. “Come on,” he muttered.

“I’ll start a fire.” 

“We have to get her back to the camp.”

“We need her breathing before we take her anywhere,” Cassandra said. She took out her hunting knife and tossed it at him. “Get those clothes off of her.”

That wasn’t going to be easy. Ellana’s clothes were soaked through and hardened from the cold. He pulled his gloves off and began undoing the fastenings on her vest. The stiffness of the fabric and the cold on his fingers made it very difficult.

“We should have brought a mage,” Cassandra said. 

“Now’s not the time,” Cullen said. He peeled the vest back and opened the top of her shirt. She had a deep black and blue mark stretching from her collarbone to the breast band she wore. Blood had dried black and then been wiped away by the snow. He tried to avoid looking at the spot under her left collarbone, but he couldn’t avoid it entirely: the initials still stood out against the blackened flesh. “She’s bruised. Hard. ”

“Bruised?” Cassandra barked. “How is she not dead, Cullen?” She picked up the branches that had been sheltered from the snow by the rock face.

He didn’t want to think about how she had survived. The trebuchet launched, the snow swamped Haven, and an avalanche like that would have flattened the town. He had grown up in Ferelden, he knew what avalanches left in their wake. There should have been little more than a smear left where Ellana had been standing.

And yet. She was here. He had her body in his arms. 

He reached hold of the two sides of her shirt and ripped it open. He pulled her shirt back and put his hands around her body. “Breathe,” he said. 

“Don’t break anything,” Cassandra said.

“She can survive a broken rib but she has to breathe first.” He bent over her and forced his breath into her mouth again, pushing on her chest. 

He pulled back. No response. Nothing at all showing on her face. 

Dammit. 

Then felt her body shudder under his hands. 

And she coughed in his face before taking in a huge breath in. Her lungs sounded wet. She opened her eyes and then squeezed them shut hard. She was in severe pain.

Oh Maker.

She was alive. 

He had no idea by what mechanism a miracle like this could have happened, but she was _alive_. 

“Herald?” he said. “Ellana?”

She coughed again, her lungs trying to expel the mucus in them, and she nodded.

Cassandra stood up from the fire. “Wrap her in your cloak and get her over here,” she said.

He picked Ellana’s body up—Maker’s blessing, did she really weigh so little?—and brought her near the heat. Cassandra stood behind him and removed his cloak. He held Ellana’s body steady while the Seeker wrapped her in it.

“You are a miracle worker,” Cullen said to her.

Cassandra shook her head. “First, let’s get her warmed up and make sure she survives this.” She began unlacing Ellana’s breeches, which were stiff and molded to her legs. She snapped her fingers and Cullen handed over the hunting knife, which Cassandra used to slice off the pants. They wrapped the cloak around her twice, but Cullen still felt her shivering in his hold. He pressed her against him, the cloak warming her up and keeping her from coming in contact with the silverite of his armor. He wanted to hold her tighter. This was going to have to be good enough.

After a few moments of sitting by the fire, Ellana began to take long, labored breaths, as though fighting to get the air into her lungs. Her skin had white patches on it. The beginning of frostbite. They had to get her out of here.

Cassandra picked up his gloves from where he had dropped them. “Can you carry her?” she asked.

“If she could make it this far on her own, we can take her the rest of the way,” he said. He held up one hand at a time as she fit the gloves on his hands. Then he gripped Ellana very securely and said, “You are going to be fine.” 

“Thank you,” Ellana said.

Before he thought twice he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, and then he hoisted her up in his arms.

They hiked back up the path they had made on the way down the mountain. Cassandra led the way, holding tree branches aside to let him through and figuring out which way to go as night fell. The only sign Ellana was still breathing was her periodic cough, her entire body convulsing in his arms.

After a mile, he started coughing right along with her. The cold in his lungs burned, and every time he breathed it hurt more. He held on to Ellana tighter whenever he had to cough.

Cassandra said, “I can carry her for a while.”

“Keep moving,” he said. His voice had gotten raspy.

When they passed three branches, one after the other, with a strip of cloth tied to them, she said, “It’s not far now.” 

“Run on ahead and alert the others. Get the healers ready.” 

She sprinted ahead of him on the path, disappearing in seconds into the darkness. He could make out some light up ahead—one of the fires from the camp, he supposed. 

“We’re almost there, Ellana,” he said. “Stay with me now.”

He felt her hand push against his forearm, where he held her. She was still awake. She was listening.

He turned and walked backward through a clump of boughs to keep them from tearing at her. 

“You will be fine. Do you hear me? You are going to be fine.”

He walked straight into a branch he couldn’t see in the darkness. It strafed across his face and his eye stung. He clutched her tighter. Somewhere in front of him, he could hear shouting.

“I’m going to be very upset if we lose you now,” he said. “If I lose you.” 

Her only response was to cough harder. Her lungs were filled with fluid. 

He rounded a large granite rock and found himself staring at the edge of camp. A trio of soldiers stood at the edge of camp, listening to Cassandra, who was pointing back the way she came.

“Cullen!” she yelled, and he stumbled forward. 

The soldiers ran to him and one tried to take Ellana from his arms.

“Just show him where the tent is,” Cassandra yelled. 

They brought him to the healer’s tent. Whoever had been in there last had been cleared out to make way for the Herald. Cullen lay her down on the cot and then sat on the ground beside her, both of his hands still on her. One of the healers tried to shove him out of the way, but he wouldn’t move.

“Cullen.” Cassandra reached over and put her fingers over his hand. “Let go.”

“I can’t.”

She pulled his hands away from Ellana’s body, allowing the surgeon to move in. “You have to let the healers work on her now. You’ve done enough.”

His arms cramped and seized, his legs felt like they were made of lead, and his head throbbed with a headache the likes of which he hadn’t felt in years. “I can’t,” he whispered. “I can’t leave her.”

“You don’t have to,” Cassandra whispered back. “You can stay right here. We’ll both stay right here. But you have to let go of her and give them room.” She pulled him over to the cot on the other side of the tent, where they could both sit and see what was happening with Ellana. Then the Seeker snapped her fingers lightly over his head, signaling to someone. A  young soldier appeared, bearing two mugs of tea. “Drink this.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You’re half-frozen. You sound like you’re coughing up your guts. This is an order. Drink.”

He only drank it because she made it an order. His arm could barely raise the mug without shaking half the liquid out, but his fingers couldn’t even feel the hot liquid. It did feel good to drink something warm, though. It made him feel as though he would survive that walk after all. 

In a moment, he would be fully recovered.

But first, he would close his eyes. Only for a minute. Just to rest.

That thought made him open his eyes wide instead and stare at the mug.

The tea had mostly tasted of licorice and elfroot, but now he realized there was the sweetness of drowsy leaf buried underneath it

He looked at Cassandra, his lids growing heavier by the second. “You didn’t.”

“You carried her two miles straight up the side of a mountain, Rutherford.” She took the mug from his hand. “Oh yes, I bloody well did. I have my own to drink as soon as you’re taken care of. You sleep and let them work.”

He could barely hear a word she said as he fell backward on to the cot in the tent, still in his armor. The last thing he felt was Cassandra lifting his legs, so that he was laying flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read another fic where Cole's telepathy is what tells them where Ellana is and I immediately said, "YES, this is completely correct. Certainly more sense than WANDERING AROUND A SNOWSTORM ON A MOUNTAIN and managing to find the others." So it immediately became canon for me. (Sorry, I can't remember the author--but thank you!)


	21. Ellana wakes up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana wakes up in the camp after being rescued. She catches on pretty quick that everyone thinks it's a little odd she's on her feet.
> 
> Not just her friends. EVERYONE thinks it's weird. Ellana should probably get used to being treated a little more differently than she has so far, because her reputation is just going to start snowballing at this point.
> 
> She also pays a visit to the sickbed of her favorite Commander, who managed to get himself pneumonia while rescuing her. Ellana may need to work on her bedside manner some (but he doesn't seem to mind).

_From the platform on top of the fortress, she could see for miles. Far, far into the next kingdom. She fancied she could see beyond the Lake, even. The cold wind whipped through her hair, which was long and braided. She wore the gown of her station._

_He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. “I didn’t know what you meant to me until I almost lost you,” he whispered in her ear._

~ O ~

Ellana woke up coughing, and every cough felt like a new stab wound through her lungs. She gagged as she spat the mucus out of her throat and she heard herself wheeze as she tried to suck air in. Immediately someone wiped her face off with a cloth. When she opened her eyes, Mother Giselle was bent over her. 

“Herald?” she asked.

“Yes?” Ellana’s voice sounded rough. Her throat was sore and it hurt to talk.

“Shhh,” Mother Giselle said. “It’s enough to see you’re awake. Drink.” She held up a cup of warm water to Ellana’s mouth and the healer on Ellana’s other side held her up. 

Her lips were so dry it was tough to drink without spilling. After a few sips she lay back down, panting from the exertion.

“Sleep,” the Revered Mother said, and Ellana closed her eyes.

~ O ~

_The flags on the wall of the fortress flapped in the wind, proclaiming to anyone who might come near who ruled here. She wanted to look at them, but couldn’t. She couldn’t move her head. But she knew they were there._

_“Shhh,” he whispered. “You need to recover. And then you will know.”_

_The beauty of what was laid out in front of her crushed her soul. The land. The empire. She felt tears rush down her cheeks._

~ O ~

She woke herself up coughing again—her chest still hurt, but the coughing itself was way less messy this time. She opened her eyes and struggled to raise herself on her elbows. The two healers, one on either side, put their hands on her to push her back down on to the cot. “Please stay there,” one of them said. She looked familiar. What was her name? Ellana would come up with it in a moment. Gernta. Her name was Gernta. Or something like that—Ellana was having trouble remaining conscious. “You mustn’t move.”

“I’ll get the Mother,” said the other one. Ellana had no idea what her name was.

“Get Lady Cassandra,” Gernta said.

“What happened?” Ellana said. Her voice was better.

“What do you remember?” Gernta asked.

She remember sleeping. Sleep sounded good. She closed her eyes.

~ O ~

This wasn’t a dream. Or, if it was, it was the most real a dream had ever been.

She stood on—no, over—the battlements of a great stone fortress, perched high in snowy mountains. The cool mountain air whipped through her hair, which felt longer than it had been, and heavier, as though it were tied back in long, heavy braids. A flag flew overhead—she couldn’t tilt her head to look up, but she knew the banner carried the image of a wolf. Not the Dread Wolf—or was it? She had never seen Fen’harel pictured—no one would dare. She wanted to see what image was the banner. 

She also couldn’t tilt her head to look down at her clothes, but the cuff of her dress felt dense and soft, like the velvet Vivienne always wore. And it was a dress, which felt odd, because she never wore dresses.

The platform she stood on was raised at the point of the fortress that jutted the furthest out into the mountains. Below the platform was a fall of thousands of feet to the crevasse below. This fortress was the capital of a great empire, and this was where the man who ruled this fortress stood to look over his lands. She knew the empire lay in all directions, farther than the eye could see. It was the largest empire in all of history, from the beginning of the time of the elves. And from before the histories were written.

The ruler of the empire stood behind her. His body wasn’t touching hers, but she knew he stood close. His hands were on the sides of her shoulders, holding her in place.

“All of this,” the ruler said.

His voice sounded familiar. She couldn’t put a name to it, though. 

“All of this is ours,” he said. 

She wanted to turn around to look at him, to see who was talking to her, but his hands held her in place. She could only see the land stretched out before her.

“All of this has been mine and will be yours,” he said. “Ours, together.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

The ruler leaned close. She felt his hair brush against the back of her neck, the back of her ear. “You are my queen.”

She wanted to turn around and see him, this great lord whose voice she knew. She tried to pull away from him, but still he held her in place. His strength was so much greater than hers.

“Not yet,” he said. “I don’t want you to see me like this. You aren’t ready.” He leaned closer and laughed in her ear. It was a familiar sound. “I am not ready.”

~ O ~

Ellana opened her eyes to see not the land stretched beneath the fortress but the canvas of a tent. She thought, _Stay awake_.

She coughed, mostly to clear her throat. Her ribs no longer hurt, and her lungs no longer felt like she was going to cough up flesh and blood, let alone mucus. 

How long had she been lying here? 

More importantly, how had she got here, to this cot, to this camp? She remembered all the snow in Haven. Then she remembered walking. Walking in the snow, alone.

Then standing at the forward point on the battlements of a great fortress.

That…didn’t sound right.

She sat up and threw off the blankets the healers must have heaped over her and immediately shivered in the cold air, because all she wore was the blanket the healers had put over her. A fresh set of clothing lay on the folding chair nearby. 

Her fingers had fastened the shirt halfway up when Mother Giselle came in. “Herald!” she said. “You mustn’t move! You must rest!”

“I’ve had enough rest, Mother,” Ellana said. “How long have I been out?”

The round-faced Revered Mother’s mouth opened and then shut, and she looked concerned.

“How long?” Ellana demanded.

“Two days,” Mother Giselle said, her voice quiet.

Two days? Ellana remembered feeling a great deal of pain and her chest had been so clogged she had found it difficult to breathe. But if it had only been two days, she couldn’t have been hurt all that badly. She had to get up and find out what was happening.

“I feel fine,” she said honestly. 

The Revered Mother felt along the sides of Ellana’s jaw and throat, and then she pulled apart the sides of the shirt to look at Ellana’s chest. Ellana peeked down to see two large patches of light green skin where she had bruises, but they were faded and healed. “Lie down, please.” When Ellana grudgingly obeyed, Mother Giselle palpated the sides of Ellana’s ribs and then her stomach. “Does that hurt?”

“You need to trim one of your thumbnails, but no, other than that, no pain.” When Mother Giselle took her hands away, Ellana stood and returned to getting dressed.

The flap to the healer’s tent opened and Cassandra poked her head in. “Ellana!” she said. “You shouldn’t be up.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that? Honestly, I feel fine.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Mother Giselle, who simply shook her head. “Despite how you feel, it would be better to take some more time, Ellana.”

“The camp hasn’t moved since you found me, am I right? And I’m willing to bet it was you who found me.”

“And Cullen,” Cassandra said. “Together the two of us brought you here.” 

Cullen. Just hearing his name made her feel anxious. She wanted to see him, to talk to him. To find out how he was—at least, find out what had happened since they had last spoken. If she had been out two days, then the last time she had seen him was only three days ago? The conversation in the Chantry as the dragon attacked felt like it had happened years ago. It felt like eons had passed since that moment.

Standing on that parapet, overlooking the empire, the ruler’s arms around her… that felt more recent than anything else.

It also hadn’t felt like Cullen. She hadn’t been dreaming of Cullen when that image went through her mind.

“Are you all right?” Ellana asked.

Cassandra chuckled. “I am fine, Herald.” She bowed her head. “Everyone will be very glad to hear that you seem to be well.”

“I will be happy to show them I am just as well as ever,” Ellana said.

The Seeker clasped her hands behind her back and rocked back and forth, as if debating whether or not to allow this. “All right. Only for a few minutes. You’re tired and your appearance will create…excitement.”

Ellana wanted to shout at them: _I’m fine, stop worrying!_ But she had the feeling that they were worried for good reason. Mother Giselle seemed utterly baffled that Ellana had no pain and could even stand.

Cassandra walked out of the tent first, and only then did Ellana notice she had a slight limp. “What happened to your leg?” she asked.

“I hurt myself.” Cassandra’s eyes focused on her. “While bringing you back here.”

“What about Cul—the Commander?” Ellana asked. “Was he also hurt?”

Cassandra paused a moment, and then she grunted. “He’s healing,” she said.

Ellana stepped out of the healer’s tent. Two other tents faced the same central fire pit. If this camp was set up like other large ones Ellana had seen, there were several areas where makeshift tents were set up in a wheel formation, with fire pits in the center of each wheel. There was tons of commotion with people moving back and forth from one tent wheel area to another. 

Everyone who saw Ellana standing there, unharmed and healthy, stopped in their tracks.

One woman shrieked and then put her hands over her mouth, staring at Ellana like she was looking at a ghost.

“Come on,” Cassandra said softly. “Acknowledge them and let’s move. A lot of people here want to see you.” She sighed. “Some may have issue with it.” 

Ellana followed Cassandra out toward another group of tents, where townspeople sat around tending to minor wounds or eating or trying to keep their children quiet. When she appeared on the edge of their wheel, everyone stopped and stared at her. More than a few children screamed and hid behind their mothers and fathers at the sight of her.

That scared her. The children had always loved her. They usually came running.

“Is there something wrong with the way I look?” she whispered to Cassandra.

“No,” the warrior said, with her customary curtness.

Several people who saw them at one group of tents followed them to the next, silent and maintaining their distance but watching. No one came near her. Some people bowed their heads, but no one said anything.

The silence was the worst part. Hearing whispering spread through the camp, followed by running and then more silence, was almost as bad.

Cassandra led her to the circle of tents on the edge of the encampment, where members of the Inner Circle slumped around their fire pit, talking quietly to each other or, in Dorian’s case, to himself. Solas was the first to see her, and his eyes widened as he stood up. “ _Lethallin_ ,” he said, which caused the others to stop what they were doing and face her. “It is good to see you again. You look well.”

Dorian’s eyes widened when he saw Ellana there and he stood alongside the apostate mage. “She looks better than we do.”

Blackwall dropped the branch he was carving. 

The Iron Bull slammed his hand on one of the tents he stood near, and Grim and Skinner’s heads popped out.

Within seconds her Inner Circle and Bull’s Chargers were standing there in front her, mouths agape, staring at her like they had never seen such a strange sight before in their lives.

“You’re alive,” Dorian said. 

“Yes, I am,” Ellana said.

“What he means to say, Bright Eyes,” Varric said, “is, _How_ are you alive?”

That made her laugh. “I suppose the Inquisition’s healers are better than we knew.”

No one laughed. No one even seemed to listen to her.

Vivienne approached her, slowly, staring at her face. She moved her hand up and down in the air in front of Ellana.

“She’s still the person she was,” Solas said.

“We need to make sure of that,” the Chantry mage told him.

Cole shook his head, his floppy hat going side to side. “She is the same. And yet there is something different about her. More herself, not less.”

“What does that mean?” Ellana asked him.

Solas took her left hand in both of his own. She suddenly had the impression he had done exactly that recently, but she couldn’t remember—maybe while she was in the healer’s tent? He examined the mark on her hand, as if checking to see if it was any different than it had been.

“He called it the Anchor,” Ellana said.

“Who did?”

“The Elder One. Corypheus.”

Cassandra stared at her. “Corypheus?”

“Yes. The charming fellow who attacked Haven—do you know him?”

Dorian closed his eyes. “Blessed Maker’s shit, are you kidding me,” he said.

“Varric!” Cassandra yelled at the dwarf.

“Don’t look at me, Seeker. Hawke and me did our part and locked him in a dungeon good and tight.”

Varric? Hawke? They knew Corypheus? She had no idea what they were talking about. 

“I’ll let you work this out,” Ellana muttered, and she turned around.

Scores of townspeople were crowded into every available space behind her: in between tents, around fires, wedged up against the walls sheared into the side of the mountain. Hundreds of people staring at her, silent, not saying a thing. Staring at her like they were afraid.

“I’m alive,” she told them. “We’re all alive. We all made it out.”

No one responded.

What had happened to all of the people who had been happy to see her every day? She took a step toward them—

And as one every person there backed away from her.

Ellana thought, No, that can’t be right, and she began to pull her other foot forward—

And they all backed away again.

Hundreds of people, curious and eager, but not willing to come any closer to her. Or to let her be too close to them.

“Ellana,” Cassandra said sharply.

“What happened?” Ellana demanded. “Why is this happening?”

Cassandra tried to smile but her brown eyes betrayed her worry. “You’re alive. No, more than that. You’re whole. You’re in better shape than any of us. I don’t know how to explain to you how truly startling it is to see you standing upright and healthy and…” 

“And not dead,” Ellana finished.

After a moment, Cassandra nodded. 

“I want to see the Commander.”

“That would be unwise.” 

“Why?” Ellana demanded.

“He has been unconscious for most of the past two days, while the healers attempt to heal a cracked rib, his pneumonia, and a rather severe case of frostbite to his hands.”

“All of which he got after the two of you found me.”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes. You’re walking around fine and dandy and our healers wonder if they can clear the pleurisy in his lungs. I think you should leave him be.”

Ellana looked back at the crowd watching her. It was larger now, the faces betraying their hope, their fear, their anger at not understanding what they were looking at.

 _I’m just me_ , she wanted to tell them.

Those were not the right words now.

“I won’t be long, but I want to see him now.”

As they walked back toward the healers’ tents, Ellana said, “What is the plan now? What to do with all these people?”

Cassandra sighed. “Well. We can’t stay here. We need to get the people moving again. At least for part of them. We’ve sent runners on to Ferelden to see if King Alistair will take any of us, but we’re not relying on that option.”

“I have also sent messengers to Val Royeaux,” Leliana said.

Ellana turned around to find the spymaster standing behind them, blue cloak over her armor.

“I don’t carry much hope they will offer us a place,” Leliana said. “Or even safe passage.”

Fantastic, Ellana thought. Nowhere to go toward, nowhere to return to. And if she had managed to survive Haven, the avalanche might not have been as bad they had needed it to be, and perhaps this Elder One and his army had survived too.

She nodded. “We’ll think of something,” she said.

Cassandra grunted, quietly. “Wait here.” She popped her head into one of the healer’s tents and said something Ellana couldn’t hear. She closed the flap behind her. “Okay. Five minutes only.”

“I understand.” 

Leliana put her hand on Cassandra’s arm. “While she’s in there, a moment please,” she said, and Cassandra nodded.

Ellana went into the tent, which was much smaller and darker than the one she had woken up in. It smelled like strong incense and healing herbs.

Cullen was on a cot on the side, out of the breeze from the tent flap, and he was coughing as she entered. In the muted light, he looked and sounded like hell, Ellana thought. She suspected it wasn’t just the lighting. 

Cullen’s face was drawn and he looked sleepy. His skin was more ashy than golden, one arm was strapped to his side with tight bandage, and a poultice was tightly bound to the other side of his rib cage. The light fabric of the shirt someone had thrown over him was almost sheer due to the amount of sweat he had poured onto it. The rest of him was covered with a thick, scratchy wool blanket, which probably wasn’t helping the sweating any. When he coughed, his lungs sounded terrible, as though there was more fluid than air in there.

“Commander,” she said.

He was looking at her, but he didn’t say anything. Exhausted from being ill, no doubt.

She sat on the edge of his cot. “I wanted to thank you, Cullen. Cassandra told you brought me back here. I don’t remember very much of it, but I’m much better now.”

He nodded. 

She cupped her hand under his chin, which was scratchy with the beginnings of a red-gold beard. His skin was feverish and damp. He tried to pull away, but she kept her hand there, and after a moment he relaxed into it. “All I want right now is to return the favor and make sure you get back on your feet. We need to find a sanctuary for these people and we need to do it soon. And for me personally, I need you to be the Commander, whole and healthy and strong. Someone I can rely on. Do you understand that?” 

After a moment, she felt him nod. She slid her hand from his jaw to holding his cheek.

“I am going to find this place and then we are going to get everyone there. In the meantime, I expect you to be a good little patient and heal up. Because I sense there’s going to be a lot of shouting in the near future and let’s face it, that’s your skill set, not mine.” 

She felt the muscles of his face pull up as he smiled. He turned his face in her hand and his lips brushed her wrist.

The simple touch of her mouth on her skin made a riot of emotion break out in her: relief from having survived Corypheus, apprehension at how everyone was treating her, fear of what to do next. For some reason they were alive. They had all made it out and they were here.

She turned his head to face her and then she kissed him. Hard. She meant it as gratitude and relief and a sign that everything was fine between them, but once she started she didn’t want to stop. And he apparently didn’t want her to either, his hand grabbing her arm and holding her there. 

Then he pulled away and started to cough. Oh, Creators, what had she been thinking?

She had been thinking how overjoyed she was they were both alive, she told herself.

She leaned her forehead against his, which was fiery and sweaty. He needed to rest, she had to leave him in peace.

“You have to get better soon,” she said.

“I will,” he rasped. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I’m going to be right here.”

He nodded and the side of his mouth slightly curled up, and then he lay back against the pillows.

Cassandra poked her head in again. “That’s enough,” she said.

Cullen started to chuckled quietly, only it morphed quickly into more coughing. 

“Try to get better, Commander,” Ellana said, patting his arm. “I’ll visit you later.” 

Outside Cassandra and Leliana wanted to talk about the options they had: head east into Ferelden, which had already thrown the mages out, head north into Orzammar, who hadn’t responded to their entreaties yet, or go northwest and hope Orlais let them in. None of the options were good.

Ellana found herself wanting to say, “But what about my suggestion?” Except she didn’t know what her suggestion was. 

After a moment, she burst out, “We head north. What we’re looking for is there.”

Both Cassandra and Leliana looked at her sharply.

“What does that mean?” Leliana asked softly.

“I actually have no idea,” Ellana said. “But it’s true.”

“We will discuss this later,” Cassandra said.

Fine, Ellana thought. She turned around and headed out of camp, past the fire pit where her friends still stood, waiting. 

Past the edge of the camp a turn in the path opened up the vista from a hundred feet to a stunning view of the Frostback Mountains as they ran toward the north. The silent, snow-covered giants, taller than anything she had ever seen in the Free Marches. The Vimmark Mountains seemed like hills with ambitions of grandeur next to these mountains. 

The majesty of the Frostbacks—and the amount of land they covered—reminded her of her dream. Except in the dream she wasn’t looking toward a chain of mountains, she was looking from the mountains toward the valleys, and from there stretching out toward the sea…

She trudged through the snow to get to a vantage point that allowed her to see down into the areas between the mountain they were on and the next. She couldn’t see all the way down into the valley, but she was willing to bet even if it were green and livable it wouldn’t be that way for long—the spring runoff from the snowcaps probably created rivers every year.

They had to get moving before they were trapped here.

But they had nowhere to go.

They needed a miracle, and maybe she had taken their miracle by surviving.

“ _Lethallin_ ,” Solas said. 

Ellana glanced over her shoulder as he walked up to her, his staff doubling as his walking stick as he glided through the snow. The bald elf looked as serene and unconcerned as he always did, despite everything that had happened: the attack, the dragon, the evacuation. He probably was as serene as ever, even after this, Ellana thought. Nothing ever seemed to affect him.

“How are you doing, Ellana?” he said. 

“I’m fine.” She took a deep breath of the cold mountain air. Her lungs felt clear, as though nothing had ever been wrong. “Although I should stop saying that, though, as no one wants to hear it.”

He stood alongside her. “You are troubled.”

“Of course I’m troubled, Solas. An ancient Tevinter magister wants to destroy all of Thedas, and he’s especially interested in destroying me. And that turns out to be difficult for him to do.” She held her hands up, palms toward her face, and the Anchor in her palm flashed. “Whatever this is, he’s very upset he can’t have it back.” 

“You need to know more about this Corypheus and his power,” Solas said.

“Well, yes—”

Solas stared at her, and Ellana realized he was about to tell her something. “The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is _elvhen_. Corypheus used an ancient _elvhen_ orb to open the breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived…and we must prepare for their reaction.”

 _Elvhen?_ Her people had ever had such power? The explosion, the rip in the Fade, even what she had felt closing the various rifts… And, she assumed, this mark was the reason she had healed so quickly. “How did he get such a thing? How did he—what is it?”

Solas shook his head. “An orb such as this was a foci. It channeled power from our gods. Some of these orbs were dedicated to specific members of our Pantheon. I have traveled the Fade seeking more information, but the references are sparse, in the ruins of a dead Empire.”

Oh, fantastic, Ellana thought. It wasn’t enough that the entirety of Haven was staring at her like she was some kind of monster walking among them. Whatever was going on was directly traceable to her people. She wanted to scream.

“If they find this out, whatever happens, they’re going to blame elves,” she said.

He nodded, as though she had said something wise instead of something obvious. “I suspect you are correct. It is unfortunate but we must be above suspicion to be seen as valued allies. Faith in you is shaping this moment but it needs room to grow.”

She stared at him, his wise blue eyes focused on her. “If I could find us a place to go to, that would help.”

Solas’s hand gently cupped hers. His skin was warm and dry. It felt good to be touched, as though she needed some kind of proof that she really existed. “You have something on your mind.”

She nodded. “We’re stuck here, no one knows where to go. But…last night I had a dream and it felt so real. It felt like a real place.” 

He made one of his noncommittal agreement noises. “Tell me what you can about the dream. When you are healing, your body allows your mind to go deeper into the Fade. Perhaps this is significant.”

“I’m not a mage, Solas. I don’t travel the Fade as you do.”

He smiled. He was much better looking when he smiled, so much less unapproachable. “Everyone gets closer to the Fade when they are in the healing state, _lethallin_. Everyone. Describe it for me.”

“I was in this castle…no, a fortress. In the mountains.” She pointed northward. “Giant, majestic mountains like these.” 

She left out the parts about the empire, about the banner with the wolf on it, about the ruler holding her. About how they were going to rule over this land together. She described the fortress and the mountains and the sheer size of the place. 

“And it felt real, Solas. Most times I wake up from a dream and it’s like an image made out of smoke. Not this. I was there. I could feel the wind and see the valleys in the distance.” 

“That is very interesting, _da’len_ ,” he said. When she snorted, he shook his head and smiled again. “Because my friends in the Fade have told me of a place much like this. I believe they may have also spoken to you.”

“You think I dreamed of a real place?” Ellana asked.

Solas nodded. He pointed to the row of Frostbacks. “Scout to the north. Be their guide. There is a place that waits for a force to hold it. There is a place where the Inquisition can build and grow.” He stamped his staff against the hard ground. “They call it Skyhold.” 

She turned and stared toward the line of mountains that stretched so far they disappeared over the horizon. “Sounds like a suicide mission,” she said.

“Luckily, you seem to be adept at surviving those,” Solas said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, we should start hearing a little bit more about the other main man in Ellana’s life, the strange elf who wants her to embrace her elvhen side (for his own selfish purposes). I think Solas is a really difficult character to write well, because so much of his story is hard to grok, honestly.


	22. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana and company find Skyhold and get the rest of the survivors there. One man in her life is beginning to act much more relaxed and open with her, and the other is much more cold and closed off. Ellana wouldn't have guessed which one was doing what.

The War Council and the Inner Circle had crammed into the healer’s tent where the Commander was recuperating.

Leliana had her arms folded across her chest. “I’ve never heard of it. What did you say it’s called?”

Ellana looked at her. “Its name is Skyhold. I dreamt of it. Very clearly.”

“You’re not a mage. You’re not a Fadewalker,” Cassandra said.

Solas nodded. “Yes, but when she told me what she had seen, I scouted in the Fade. I have seen this place.”

“Yes. Seen it in the Fade,” Cassandra said. “It might have been destroyed centuries ago. Pardon me if your dream is not a enough map for me.” 

Everyone began to argue at once.

Cullen tried to speak and started coughing. Ellana reached over with one of the cloths the healer had left with her to wipe his face. He shook her off. “We cannot risk searching for a place no one can be sure exists,” he said. 

“We don’t all go,” Ellana said. “We send people ahead to find out what’s there. I will lead the party there.”

“No,” Cullen said, his voice raspy. “Absolutely not.” He could barely get the words out, but he still managed to sound like the grumpy Commander.

“Why not?” she demanded.

“Because two days ago you sounded exactly like I do now. And if something happens to you, after all we have been through…we will have panic. Worse than panic. Surrender.” 

Ellana stood up and in front of everyone took the deepest breath she could muster, throwing her chest way out, and then she expelled it. “My lungs are clear and my ribs are fine, Commander.”

Cullen looked up at Cassandra and Leliana. “She survived whatever happened in Haven. She cannot leave again.” 

“These people trust me to lead them across these mountains to a place I know nothing about, Commander. I had better find out ahead of time what I am asking them to do, don’t you think?”

After a moment, Cullen’s obstinance gave way to another coughing fit. Ellana poured him a glass of water and forced him to drink some of it. When he couldn’t drink any more he turned away like a stubborn child, still refusing to look directly at her. She reached by his neck and he turned away to avoid contact, and she pulled up the pillows propped behind him. “Stay still,” she said.

Then, to the others, “I’m not going to go alone, obviously. Some or all of the Inner Circle will go with me—”

“Herald, that’s not a good idea,” Leliana said. 

“If there’s anyone _interesting_ waiting in this fortress for us, those are the people I trust to take care of it in the quickest way possible. In addition, I will need others. Ones with more energy than sense and more enthusiasm than ability.”

“Why?” Cullen barked. 

She turned to look at him and actually made eye contact this time. His eyes were watery and rimmed with red—but they were still amber, she saw that, he was just sick. He was still him, she had to remember that. “Because if the fortress is abandoned and has been so for decades…or perhaps longer… It’s going to be a fucking mess in there, isn’t it?”

After a moment, he nodded at that. “You can have ten.”

“Twenty.”

“Ten,” he repeated. 

“When do you want to leave?” Cassandra said.

“Quicker the better,” Ellana said. “Half an hour? Hour at the most. Pack lightly. I have the feeling this march is going to suck something awful. Might be summer, but it’s still snowing up here.”

She heard general grunts of agreement and then the tent cleared out of everyone except her and Cassandra. 

The Seeker stopped by Cullen’s bed. “I’ll get Rylen. He can help make the roster.” She left.

When the tent flap closed, Ellana looked down at Cullen, who still avoided looking at her. “I will come back, Cullen. You can yell at me for taking dangerous chances then, all right? I won’t even talk back when you do.” 

Then she swooped down and laid a kiss on him.

That made him look at her. 

She smiled. “Try to get some rest, Cullen.” She pulled his blanket up higher over him.

Knight-Captain Rylen walked in. “Cassandra tells me you need a squad.”

“Ten,” Cullen rasped. “We can’t spare a full twenty.” 

Rylen nodded. “Is that acceptable, Herald?”

How odd that Rylen was asking her for confirmation. “Whatever the Commander says,” she told him. “After you gather them, have them pack for a fast, hard march. Meet at the north end of camp.”

Rylen nodded and then sat on the chair beside Cullen’s bed. 

Ellana didn’t have much—the upside of expecting she would die in Haven, she supposed—but she was slower than everyone else anyhow. The other members of the Inner Circle were ready at the north end of camp by the time she got there. “Cassandra tell all of you what’s going on?” she asked.

The Iron Bull pointed to the Chargers, who were not dressed to go. “They’ll stay here to guard the camp. And, you know. Help out,” he said.

Sera walked over to her, her face twisted in her usual sneer of disbelief. “So you dream about places now? You’re like the weird egg, all Fade-y like?”

Ellana shook her head. “Oh, no, Sera. I’m much weirder than he is.”

“Yeah, seeing as you’re not dead and shit.” 

“You know where we’re going, Bright Eyes?” Varric said.

She nodded. “I think I do. No. I do. I’ve been there, multiple times.”

“Or we’re all going to die in a terrible misunderstanding,” Dorian said.

Blackwall grunted. “We’re always about to die in a terrible misunderstanding.”

“How very true, my good man.” 

Vivienne stared at the field of snow in front of them. “We should clear a path as we go. It will make it easier for us to return. And for them to find us.”

“And for anybody evil looking for us to find us,” Varric said.

Solas shook his head. “They look for us anyhow, Varric. We can’t worry about them.”

“Herald?” Knight-Captain Rylen said

Ellana turned to find Rylen standing with ten soldiers and two mages. Nine men, three women. 

One of the soldiers was Serge Aethelstan, she noticed. Her sword fighting tutor from so many weeks ago. They had spoken only once since that day the Commander had asked her not to fraternize with any of the soldiers. She had told him she was sorry she couldn’t train with him any more, and he had nodded, briskly. “Yeah, I was told,” he had said. 

Creators, that was a long time ago. He looked so much younger than she remembered. Or maybe he just looked like a young man. Her attention had been on the Commander. 

Had Cullen picked Aethelstan for this mission? Had Rylen?

“This will be a terrible march across some very unforgiving terrain. When we get there, we’ll most likely have some unpleasant duties ahead of us. Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne will be in front, hopefully clearing a path for us that will make this a little easier, but we have to move fast. I believe we will find the spot we seek within a day. Possibly two. If we don’t find it by the third day, we return here. I want to cover as much territory as possible, so we are going to move at an uncomfortable pace.”

She waited a moment. The twelve soldiers looked back at her and nodded with understanding. Even Aethelstan, who looked at her as though she were some superior officer who had just given him an order.

Well. For all intents and purposes she was, wasn’t she.

“Any questions?” She looked back at the Inner Circle and then around to the soldiers. No one moved. “All right. Let’s go.”

They made good time the first day and camped in a secluded area that might make a good place for the Haven group to make their next area. The mages took turns clearing the path as well as they could. The group stopped only when it was too dark to continue and set out as soon as the first rays of light were visible on the horizon. 

During the night, she dreamed of the platform at the prow of the fortress. The ruler of the empire murmured in her ear. She couldn’t remember what he told her. All she could remember was that he held her like he loved her.

Midway through the second day, she began to wonder if she was following a dream that was going to get all of them killed. 

The morning of the third day, the Iron Bull stood on a rocky outcropping. “Boss!” he yelled.

She scrambled on to the rock beside him. There, in the distance, was definitely a building of some kind. It was difficult to judge how far away it was, but either the fortress walls were very short or the place was massive. 

It existed. Her dreams hadn’t lied to her. 

What else hadn’t her dreams lied about? The voice of the man standing behind her. The banners.

She turned to go back and tell the others.

Solas stood there, peering into the distance in front of them. “So Skyhold exists,” he said. His soft smile startled her, because he smiled so rarely. At her even less. Solas had to be overcome with emotion at this moment for him to display it so nakedly.

“It’s really there,” she said.

“It is. You found it, _lethallin_.” He shook his head. “You are really quite remarkable.”

“Careful, Solas, I might begin to expect such praise from you.”

He looked at her with a narrowed, amused glance. “Would that be so bad?”

Was…was Solas flirting with her? Mild as it was, she certainly hadn’t expected it. She didn’t even notice Cassandra move on to the rock beside her.

“Tough to gauge how far it is, but I think we can reach it tomorrow,” the Seeker said. “Midday, perhaps.”

“If we go hard,” Bull said.

“Then we go hard,” Ellana told them. She clapped Bull on the shoulder. “You probably can’t know how happy I am to actually see it.”

She returned to the others. “We’ve found it. At least twenty miles off.”

Varric shook his head. “You know, Bright Eyes, I’ve heard about these crazy things people sometimes see in the deserts. When they’re out of water and desperate. They sometimes see pools and lakes where there’s just sand.”

“It is the place,” Solas said. “I can feel it.”

One of the soldiers, a wiry, beautiful young man named Casini, came up to her. She had noticed him before, all lithe limbs and tanned skin and a crown of rusty hair. “Commander wanted me to head back when you spotted something,” he said. 

“Why you?”

“I’m the fastest runner.”

“Well, soldier, you take the second fastest runner with you. No one goes anywhere alone now, you understand that?” 

He nodded sharply. “That’d be Brooks, ma’am.”

“You and Brooks get going. Think you can make it back to the main camp by tonight?” 

Casini smiled. “We’ve been a little frustrated with the pace we’ve been going at.”

Ellana laughed. “Go.”

She dreamed again of the fortress. This time she looked at the banner. The wolf didn’t scare her. It made her feel…powerful. Protected. 

She heard a voice say something to her, but she couldn’t remember the words. This time, she realized the ruler didn’t want her to remember the words once she woke up.

The fourth day, they reached the mountain the fortress seemed to be perched on. Damn, but it was much larger than they had thought from when they first saw it. There seemed to be no way to get up the mountain to it, though. 

“How do we get there?” Ellana yelled, frustrated.

“Has to be some kind of road,” Blackwall said. “Just can’t see where it is.” 

Bull pointed at the ridge beneath the fortress. “The mountain drops off that way. That can’t be the way in.”

“It’s where two ridges meet,” Cassandra said. “So there can only be one of two sides we can approach.” 

Solas leaned on his staff. “If you had a fortress and you wanted the advantage on any army approaching you, what would be your first consideration?”

“You secretly some kind of fortification designer now, Chuckles?” Varric asked.

Ellana stared at Solas, who calmly looked back at her, as if waiting for an answer from a pupil. “You’d want the sun in their eyes, no matter what.”

“Which means?”

“The road’s on the northern side. Whatever the time of day, someone headed to the fortress has the sun is in their eyes.” She turned to figure out where a northern road would have to run to get to the fortress. “Up there,” she said, pointing. “Let’s head that way.”

The sun had passed its apex in the sky by the time Dorian blasted a forty-foot-high snowpack to uncover a large, wide cobblestoned path. “Of course I’ve found it, I’m amazing,” he said.

“Dorian, honestly, not now,” Ellana said.

He turned to Solas and Vivienne and the two mages they had brought with. “However, I need some help melting this much snow,” he said. 

Dorian and Solas sent tremendous fireballs toward the snow that had built up over a long time. Vivienne created canals in the rock-hard dirt to funnel the melting water away, but she couldn’t do it fast enough: Ellana and the others had to stay well away to avoid the rushing icy waters. 

“How long do you think it’s been since anyone cleared this road?” she asked Cassandra. “I’m not much for snow.”

“Depends how much melts during the spring and summer,” she said.

“That snow’s built up over centuries, ser.”

Ellana turned around to see who had spoken. 

Aethelstan. 

He stood there in that particularly rigid posture all the soldiers seemed to call “at ease”: his feet slightly apart, his hands clasped behind his back and every single muscle in his body coiled and ready. He was so handsome, she thought, maybe even more so than that day they had spent together. Now, though… now he did not even look at her. She was sure he hadn’t once looked directly at her the day before. None of the twelve soldiers—ten, now, with the runners returned to the camp—had ever looked straight into her face during this march, even while answering questions. 

She wondered if he had gotten an order from Cullen.

Or if Cullen had even needed to say anything.

“Pardon my interruption, Herald,” he said. 

“Centuries?” she said.

“That snow hasn’t cleared for generations,” he said.

She turned to Cassandra. “ _Centuries_ ,” Ellana emphasized. “No one’s gone in or out for…a very long time.” 

Progress up the stone road was slow and wet and intensely exciting. The mages had to rest every so often to recharge their energy, but the party was definitely straight toward the front gate of the fortress.

When they reached the point where they could see the fortress ahead of them, Ellana gasped. 

The fortress sat on a large outcropping, looming over a drop-off of thousands of feet. From the front of the fortress there was a long bridge built over a long and deep chasm, and the bridge ended in a smaller strong house with a large portcullis. Around the approach to the entrance of the strong house was a defense made of the trunks of giant trees, their ends sharpened to points, every tree laced to the next with razor wire. Many of the trees had broken under the weight of accumulated snow, but they still presented a formidable defense after so many years.

The place she had dreamed of. There was no banner now, of course—but there had been, once upon a time, when whoever built this place ruled here. She was willing to bet on it. 

“Skyhold,” Ellana said.

Solas looked rapturous. “It is magnificent, _lethallin_.” 

“You could fit all of Haven inside those walls,” Cassandra said. 

“We’ll need to,” Ellana said. She pointed to Skyhold. “Somebody tell me how to get in there.”

“We have to get into the front house first,” Cassandra said.

The mages uncovered the front opening of the strong house that guarded the entrance to the bridge, burning away years of vines and tree growth and snow. The massive iron portcullis revealed itself slowly as the snow melted away. Giant bands of metal fused together to form a heavy iron gate, its spikes driven into the ground and rusted there. Behind the gate were door formed out of thick planks of wood bound together with iron bands with spikes protruding them from them.

“So close and yet so far,” Varric said.

“Well, no one’s shooting at us, so that’s a good sign, isn’t it?” Ellana said. “What will it take to open this gate?”

“A bloody miracle,” Blackwall said.

“Or a fuckload of work,” Varric said.

Dorian clapped his hands together. “Well, we’re quite well accustomed to that. After that, lunch?”

~ O ~

They left the iron portcullis alone for the moment, instead choosing to ascend the wall using ropes and claws, and then rappel down the other side to the large bridge that ran over the gorge to the fortress itself. There they did the same thing again, only they had to scale the walls of the fortress, taller than anything Ellana had ever climbed before —

 _Taller than even the walls of the Temple of Sacred Ashes_ , Ellana thought.

What? she thought. The only memory she had of the Temple was of crawling out of it after the explosion.

“Let’s get inside there and make camp,” Ellana said.

By the time the sun hit the horizon the soldiers helped the last member of the party, the Iron Bull, over the side of the wall and on to the battlements of Skyhold. “Wow,” said the Qunari warrior.

Ellana looked over her shoulder. “I can’t stop staring at it.”

Cassandra had been right: they could have fit the entire town of Haven inside. 

The entire town of Haven could fit on what must have been the largest field at the far end of the fortress. 

The center of the fortress was the main hold. Ellana had never seen a building of that size. Each of the towers around the perimeter could probably house every single person they had coming here.

“What is this place, Bright Eyes?” Varric said.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve never seen a fortification like this,” Blackwall said. “We can’t build them this big. These walls. These buildings.”

Vivienne shook her head. “The only place I’ve seen this large is the Winter Palace. And the walls don’t go this high.” 

The grounds inside the fortress were a mess: trees growing everywhere and debris had collected over a very long time. Eons, perhaps.

“We can’t camp down there tonight,” Ellana said. She patted the eight-foot-tall wooden door into the tower nearest them. “Let’s see if we can get in here.” 

Vivienne froze the lock and Iron Bull cracked it open with a swing of the axe he carried. 

The soldiers managed to force the door open. The office inside was large and empty. It smelled like decades of mildew and rot, and there was a hole in the roof over the loft above. But the walls still stood and they would be somewhat protected from the elements. 

“We start tomorrow,” Ellana said. “Let’s clean this out and camp in here.” 

The next morning she sent five of the soldiers back to the Inquisition forces with word of what they had found and guidance on how to get there. The mages burnt the ice off the giant staircase leading into the fortress so everyone could walk down to the lower level without slipping and killing themselves.

A large wooden door bound with spiked iron bands barred the way between the portcullis and the interior of Skyhold. First, they had to figure out how to get that out of the way—preferably without destroying it. Then they had to open the portcullis. And then they had to repeat both jobs on the strong house at the front of the fortress, on the other side of the chasm. 

“Ideas?” Ellana said.

“Oil,” the Iron Bull said. “Lots and lots of oil.” 

“Where do we get…” Ellana noticed Vivienne slide up beside her. 

“I believe I can help with that, child,” the graceful mage said. She raised her staff, and a small burbling stream of black oil rose out of the ground nearby. 

~ O ~

Over the next week they worked on opening the inner portcullis between Skyhold and the bridge. Then they opened the portcullis of the strong house.

The way was open between the land outside and the fortress inside, but just doing that had taken days. The bridge was a mess, and the interior of Skyhold was still a mess. 

Ellana looked down at her hands, blistered and bloody, one of them glowing green. Everybody else’s hands would look the same, except for the Anchor. 

“Let’s take a break!” she yelled. “It’s midday. Let’s eat.”

Solas applied healing magic to her hands as they sat around the fire ring Dorian had created near the strong house. “This is too big of a job for just our small group, _lethallin_ ,” he said.

“This is going to take weeks, if not most of a year,” she said. 

Sera came rushing up. “They’re here!” she yelled. 

“Who’s —” Ellana jumped up and began racing down the bridge toward the front of the strong house.

A mile off the vanguard of the people from Haven was visible, the first faces of the people who had followed the impossible path through the mountains to get to a place none of them believed existed. 

The sun glinted off metal. Off armor.

Cullen had recovered enough to march here on his own. Or been bullheaded enough not listen to the healers.

For the first time in days, Ellana found herself smiling. And with the others, she ran out to meet the hundreds of people arriving.

Ellana and Cassandra reached Cullen and Leliana as they stood on a hill looking toward Skyhold. He looked somewhat better—his color had gone from ashy back to pink with some gray tones, but he was still coughing and perspiring much harder than he should have been. He should not have been on his feet.

He had stopped at the top of a hill to stare at the fortress with a mixture of awe and concern—and even fear, perhaps. He seemed to stare at it the way he might an opposing army. He had never seen anything like it either.

“Commander,” Ellana said. She knew he was overwhelmed looking at it, but she was bubbling over with enthusiasm—she couldn’t wait to show them everything they had found in there, despite how little of it they could actually use yet.

When he turned from looking at Skyhold to looking at her, she almost stumbled backward. He stared at her like… like…

Like he had just pulled her out of the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes and wasn’t at all sure she wasn’t the person who’d done it.

No, she thought. No, no, _no_ , he could not do this to her. Everything was supposed to be _better_ between them now. After Redcliffe, after Haven, after— _No!_ she wanted to scream. _Don’t treat me like I’m some kind of strange monster you don’t understand._

Cullen began to cough again.

Leliana took his arm. “Let’s get you off your feet, Commander.”

They continued down the incline toward the giant open area where soldiers had begun to set up tents. As they walked, Leliana kept staring at the fortress. “We can fit everyone in there,” she said, her voice filled with awe.

“Yes, but not yet,” Cassandra said. “A couple of centuries of crap has built up inside. There’s enough land out here for everyone to camp until we can clear it out.” 

“You should have seen what it looked like when we got here,” Ellana said.

Cassandra snorted. “It was terrible. It still is, but it’s better.”

“You must have been working night and day,” Cullen said.

“We have. But don’t worry. I can sleep when I’m dead,” Ellana joked. 

She did not like the glance Cullen and Leliana gave one another when she said that.

The healers’ tent was already set up and ready by the time they reached the encampment. Gernta, the healer who had worked on Ellana, waved at the door flap. “All ready to get started again, Commander,” she said. 

“Just a moment,” he said, and he wiped a palmful of sweat off his forehead. Then he looked at Ellana, as if surprised she was still standing there with him. He shrugged and went into the tent.

When she followed him in, he didn’t even look up at her. She had a sinking feeling in her stomach that his attitude wasn’t because he was sick or because the march to Skyhold over the past week had done him in. “I’ll be honest, Commander, I thought you’d be happier that my dream turned out to be a reality. That we have somewhere for the Inquisition to form a secure headquarters in.” 

He cleared his throat as he sat on the cot. “It’s stunning, Ellana. In the actual meaning of the word. No one knew this was here. No one has been in this spot for centuries, and yet somehow you found it.”

His tone didn’t sound congratulatory. It sounded suspicious.

“Yes, I did. I didn’t find it. And it’s ours. We have somewhere to live, Cullen.”

“I look forward to seeing all of it,” he said. 

He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t take her hand, he didn’t give her any indication he wanted her to stay.

She was not going to risk trying to kiss him and have him pull away from her. “I’ll leave you to rest, then,” she said, and she left

As she walked back toward the strong house, she shook her head in an effort to fight off tears. She ought to be used to this by now, she thought. Somehow she had done it again—by doing the right thing she had done the absolutely wrong thing and made herself so strange and otherworldly he didn’t want to fucking talk to her. 

The Iron Bull sauntered into the path she was taking away from the camp—and away from Skyhold. “We getting back to work, Boss?”

“I’m going for a run. The rest of you can take the whole damned week off, for all I care.”

He stepped to the side, blocking her again. “Boss? Don’t let whatever he said get to you. Everyone’s on edge and it’s hard to process.”

She glared at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“You’ve never had anyone scared of you before. Congratulations. This is what it’s like. Discovering you’re scary can take some time to adjust to. For everyone, both you and…others.”

She cackled, despite not feeling any mirth. “You’re not scared of me.”

The Qunari threw his head back and let out a loud basso laugh that made a nearby tree shake. “Oh, hell, yes, I am, Boss. At first I thought, oh, she’s not too bad, poor girl, up against shit she doesn’t understand and can’t deal with, so she needs someone like the big bad Qunari to help her. And then little by little I’ve come to see you are taking on shit I wouldn’t touch with Grim’s sword. The mages? The Breach? That Corypheus asshole?” He raised his arm and pointed at Skyhold. “And now this? Fuck you, lady, you terrify me. Also, you kinda get me excited ‘cause I get to watch you in action, but just because I change my pants when you’re not watching don’t mean I haven’t shit in them.” 

He leaned closer. “It helps a lot I’m not in love with you. If I were, something like this would really stick a dagger in my guts. I’d be reevaluating everything I ever thought I’d known. Give him some time.”

Maybe Bull was right. Maybe she was overreacting. Maybe—

She looked back at the hundreds of people making camp on the fields outside Skyhold.

“All I do is give them time, Bull. That’s all I do. And it’s just never enough. I’m going for a run.” 

“We’ll be here, Boss. Happy running.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know Skyhold isn't depicted as being THAT big in the game, but I kind of like the idea that it's basically a complete fortified city, instead of a simple fortress.
> 
> ========
> 
> And I have a Tumblr now! Don't worry, you haven't missed anything. I have to figure HOW to have a Tumblr. But if you want to check it in case I do blog anything there, it's at itsdavinahyde.tumblr.com.


	23. The Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ellana finally moves to her new title, but along with a new title and new digs she discovers everyone is treating her differently.
> 
> Everyone. Even the one she desperately needs to be there for her.

They made her the Inquisitor. 

Leliana said she was the obvious choice. 

Cassandra said of course she was the leader—Ellana had been leading them already, they were just formalizing it.

Ellana stared at the three women who informed her of her new title. “You have all noticed I’m an elf, right? Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

Cassandra actually cracked a smile. “I would be terrified handing this power to anyone, but I believe it is the only way. They’ll follow you. To them, being an elf shows how far you’ve risen, how it must have been by Andraste’s hand. What it means to you, how you lead us: that is for you alone to determine.”

And when Ellana stood up in front of the hundreds of people—no, the Inquisition numbered into the thousands now, she couldn’t believe there were so many—and raised the Inquisitor’s Sword. Probably the first time any of those people had ever seen an elf, city elf or Dalish, with a sword in their hand. 

At first her voice was weak. But she knew she really had to be heard in this moment. “I will lead us against Corypheus!” she thundered, to great applause. “I’m an elf standing for Thedas. The Inquisition is for all.”

Cullen, of all people, led the cheer in response to her, his beautiful baritone ringing out above the crowd: “Inquisition, will you follow? Will you fight? Will we triumph?” The cheers grew louder and louder each time, finishing with his “Your Inquisitor! Your Inquisitor!” 

Ellana looked around the crowd, at the faces staring back at her in awe, in happiness, in rapture. She snuck multiple glances at the Commander, who was gazing at her every time she checked.

~ O ~

The glory of being the Inquisitor lasted about a day and a half, as far as Cullen reckoned.

It was chaos inside the main hall in the main keep of Skyhold. Everyone not in the army was crammed in there, either tending to the sick or trying to clean the place up or simply milling about being useless. No one seemed to know what they should be doing or where they should go.

The center of everyone’s attention, though, sat on a camp chair set up on the raised platform at the very end of the hall. The Inquisitor looked pale and drawn and not quite recovered from what had transpired over the past fortnight.

What had transpired, Cullen thought, and he chuckled. Ellana had survived a mountain being dropped on her head and then was up and about immediately afterward to lead them to a mighty fortress no one had used for a thousand years. 

How she didn’t look more drained—or even dead—he did not understand.

He stood off to the side, watching what was going on, waiting for orders. She was, after all, now his superior officer. And he wanted to make it clear to everyone there that the Commander was not the one running this show, the Inquisitor was.

It took him a few times of shooing people toward her and away from himself before everyone seemed to get the idea.

A couple of women were by the large fireplace nearest where the Inquisitor sat, arguing over who was going to use the mops and buckets.

“Stop it!” Ellana yelled at them.

Everyone shut up and turned around.

She stood up. “Here’s what you’re going to do with all that. Almost everyone we have with us can fit here in the Great Hall, in the tower with the gate, or outside in the tents. Commander?”

“Yes?” Cullen asked.

“Your soldiers, are they good with camping outside for a bit, until we get more of this place straightened out?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good.” She turned back to the woman who wanted to clean rooms. “Sweep out the Great Hall only. Don’t even think of opening one of these other doors.” 

“But the fireplaces—”

“Forget having any damn fires in here for now,” the Inquisitor said. “We need engineers to check those chimneys and right now we don’t have any to spare. So sweep the dirt and the leaves out of this room and this room only. That alone is going to take the better part of the week.” 

“So where are the elves?” said a woman with frizzy red hair. “They do this sort of work.”

“Not this time, Maeve,” Ellana told the woman, whose eyes got wide as she seemed to take in that the Inquisitor was one of those elves too. “The three of you are in charge of this. Come find me after this is taken care of and we’ll see what else needs to be done, but right now you’re it for this area.” 

“What about cleaning out the rooms?” one woman asked.

“The first person I see cleaning out any space in Skyhold without my permission gets invited to leave, do you understand? We don’t have time for side projects. We will get to them. This place is going to be nothing but work for weeks. Excellent. Now, who can tell me where the elves are?” 

A young _elvhen_ man standing near her jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “They’re setting up the medical area outside for the surgeons and the healers. They’re wrapping bandages and a few are looking for a supply of fresh water.” 

“And why aren’t you out there helping them?”

“I…I came to ask if you wanted any of us to go on a scouting expedition near here, see what herbs and other things—”

“That’s a good idea. Do that. Elves only. Take your weapons in case anything tries to eat you. Shoot it and bring it back here so we can eat it.” The Inquisitor watched him scamper off. “All right. Commander? What shape are the other areas in?”

“There’s plenty of space for camping. The stables are a mess, but the paddock can definitely hold the horses until—”

“We need a party to muck out the stables. Send ten of the strongest men you can and start making that happen.”

“At once, Inquisitor.”

“Where are you going, Commander? Send someone else with that order. You know, delegate. I need to talk to you.” She stood up and rubbed her hands on her leather pants. “The defensive structures on the battlements. Have you examined them? Tell me what we need to do before too much time goes by. We can talk on the way.” 

He nodded and said, “Of course.” Inside, he wondered what she could possibly have to ask him about. Since Haven he certainly hadn’t known what to say to her. He wanted her, he wanted to protect her, he was scared of her. He didn’t know who she was any more. 

He rather suspected she didn’t know either. 

They walked out of the Great Hall and crossed the field to one of the giant stone staircases that led up to the battlements. He listened politely as she pointed out a few things here and there she had noticed about the fortresses and its defences, none of which were very important, any of which could be handled by just anyone in the Inquisition. Why did she need him to go all the way up here, to a spot overlooking the back side of Skyhold? 

He thought briefly on that moment at the celebration at Haven, when they were both going to give in to their flirtation. And he remembered, vaguely, her kissing him as he lay sick in the camp they had made in the mountains after the avalanche. But then they had come to Skyhold—which turned out to exist. And she became the Inquisitor. 

He had no idea who she was, or what they were to each other. He decided not to assume anything at this point.

They walked toward the area that had had the least attention paid to it, the side of Skyhold that stood over a five thousand foot drop straight down the mountain into an icy crevasse. The only attack that could be made on this side of the fortress was from a dragon, and they did not have the time or energy to worry about a dragon attack right now. Cullen hadn’t even planned to put guards up here, because there was no point. What could she possibly want to ask about the structures on this side of the fortress? 

She smiled at him as she moved over to the wall and stood looking out at the great expanse of untouched mountains and valleys beneath them. “Can anyone see us up here, Commander?” she asked.

He froze. What did she mean, could anyone see them? He wasn’t even sure what he hoped she meant by that. “No,” he said.

“Oh good.” She grabbed the side of battlement stone to hitch herself up, as if she was about to propel herself over the side and plunge five thousand feet down.

Instead, she threw up.

He reached out to grab her hips and pull her back before he realized what she was doing. Before he could let go and stutter an apology, though, he felt her body convulse as she vomited again. 

When she pushed herself to a standing position, he instantly dropped his hands from her body. He could still feel her under his fingers, but he carefully crossed his arms, to avoid reaching for her again. She panted and wiped the back of her mouth with her hand. “No one saw that, right?” She scooped up a handful of snow and stuck it in her mouth before spitting it over the side.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“How do you stand it?” she said. “Everyone depending on you to tell them what to do?”

Her nerves were shot, he realized. She had been going non-stop since…well, since she had closed the Breach at the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Corypheus, the avalanche, finding Skyhold, opening it… 

That’s what she needed from him, he thought. She needed someone to tell her how to be in charge. “That’s what a leader does. They make the decisions. They make the decisions that everyone else follows and you never, ever know whether you’ve done the right thing. Everyone wants the glory, no one wants the terror.”

“But they go together, don’t they?” she said. 

He nodded. Then he reached up to drag a piece of hair that had gotten plastered on her face off to the side.

He felt her rub her cheek against the finger of his glove.

He dropped his hand. He couldn’t handle having her touch him, even though his thick leather gloves. Not now.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Please don’t tell anyone I did this. I can’t deal with everyone knowing how ill this whole situation is making me.”

“When is the last time you’ve eaten?” he said. 

She pointed to the wall. “Did you happen to notice what I did not two minutes ago? Eating’s not a priority.”

“You’re not ill. You’re agitated. You need a warm meal and maybe an hour of time alone to collect your thoughts and you will feel a hundred times better.”

She looked at him, doubtful. “Are you sure?”

“I promise,” he lied. That combination of self-medication had never worked for him, but maybe telling her it worked would make it work for her. He also supposed he needed to teach her the fine art of stating a thing with absolute certainty while knowing perfectly well it wasn’t true.

She laughed, mostly in relief. Gods, she had a beautiful smile. She wiped her mouth again. “There’s so much to do down there. I can’t just…wander off.”

“Inquisitor, listen to me. Everyone down there knows precisely what job they’re supposed to do. Don’t supervise every moment for them. In fact, as their leader, you shouldn’t. You tell them what to do and then you find out who gets their work done and who doesn’t. That’s how they learn who you are as a leader and that’s how you learn how to lead them.”

After a moment, she said, “Inquisitor?”

“That is your title.” 

She sighed, loudly and theatrically. “You’re never going to use my name, are you?”

“Right now it would not be appropriate,” he said.

She put her hand over his and squeezed. The small gesture made his breath stop and his stomach clench, wondering if he should give in to his baser impulses and just grab her right then. Instead, she let go of his hand and looked up at him. “Thank you, Commander. We should get back down there and tell people what to do.” She walked past him. “Before word spreads we’re fraternizing up here.”

His body jolted at her joking words, but he said nothing as she walked away. She did not turn around to look back.

She had no idea the effect she had on him. He wanted her. He craved every moment of interaction they had. He was desperately afraid he would make a fool of himself, at any time, if she wanted him to. If he were honest, everything that had happened since the moment they had kissed in the smithy had scared the hell out of him. Everything she had done since that moment had scared him.

He had thought he could handle most of the strange things Thedas was capable of, but now he wasn’t sure.

Because he had no idea who she was or what she was capable of. What was she could do next.

He had sound reasons for moving past this stupid infatuation.

He wished his body would listen to his sound reasoning.

He clenched his fists and got his breathing under control. After a few moments, he went back down to the main level of Skyhold and got to work.

~ O ~

She thought that perhaps once they settled in to Skyhold, things would return to normal. More importantly, people would return to normal.

Instead, it seemed like everyone was treating her strangely. The War Council, the people she had spent more time with since the Conclave than anyone else, either deferred to her on every issue—or they ignored her altogether.

After a full month of living in Skyhold, the Inquisition had a fortress that was more or less ready to use and an Inquisitor who had had enough of everyone treating her like some kind of stranger in their midst. Even after their moment on the battlements, Cullen went out of his way to avoid her. 

As the morning session of the War Council disbanded, Josephine left first, opening the door and leaving so fast she left a wash of air behind her. Ellana tried to intercept Cullen, but he nodded at her and kept walking, deep in conversation with Cassandra, words like “training” and “maneuvers“ floating up from their conversation. Leliana almost slipped out before Ellana reached out and touched her lightly on the arm.

“Yes, Inquisitor?” the diminutive woman asked.

Leliana was playing this game too. Excellent. “A moment of your time, Sister,” Ellana said.

“Of course. What can I help you with?”

“Let’s talk on the way to your study in the tower.”

Ellana led them out of the War Room, past Josephine’s office and out into the Great Hall. The people there bowed immediately when she entered, some of them not taking their gaze off the floor until she had walked away. She knew that, because she often walked backward down the Great Hall to count how many seconds before they dared look up again.

“Have you noticed how many people here at Skyhold bow to me now?” she asked Leliana.

“Of course they do,” Leliana said, her voice even. “You are their Inquisitor. Your clan might not put much stock in titles and authority, but we do.”

“That’s not the part that bothers me,” Ellana said as they reached the door that led to the stairs up to the library. “I can’t do anything about what tales people tell one another.” They ascended the stairs to the next level of the keep. “But I’m getting damned tired of wondering why everyone on the War Council is treating me the way you are.”

Leliana’s expression didn’t change.

“At least you’re not going to placate the elf by playing stupid,” Ellana said.

“I wouldn’t dream of insulting you that way, Your Worship,” Leliana said.

Leliana could make the title as grand as “Your Worship” sounded like an insult of the worst kind.

Ellana accepted the nervous bows and curtseys from the people they met on the staircase. It made her nervous to see it, but she knew people were being respectful. When Leliana became respectful, she needed to know what the larger game was.

When they exited the staircase on the library level, everyone stopped what they were doing and immediately stood, bowing their head. Ellana stood in front of Leliana, her back to the patrons in the library.

“No one in the War Room talks to me any more. Oh, you say your reports, very fast, very correctly, and no one wants to talk a moment longer than they must. Everyone says the bare minimum and no one looks at me. No one in the Inner Circle talks to me either, in case you’re interested. Everyone responds when I ask a question, but no one wants to carry on the conversation one word too much. Even Varric of all people has suddenly lost his voice when I’m around, and I didn’t know he knew how to stop talking. The last mission we did was unpleasant, but at least it was short, so I didn’t have to experience them pretending I wasn’t with right there with them for very long.”

She turned around and looked at the circular floor of the library. No one had moved. Everyone was waiting for her to leave, their heads bowed low.

The two of them began up the stairs to Leliana’s floor of the tower. “So tell me, Sister Nightingale. What happened? What happened to change everyone?”

The researchers on the top floor bowed and then fled to a distant corner, far from Leliana’s area.

“I am pleased you have finally noticed something is different, Inquisitor.”

“Finally?” Ellana yelled, her voice echoing through the tower. “How in your Void could I _not_ notice? I feel like I’m barely there most of the time. You yelled at me to get involved and be present, and now I am and it’s like I’m a ghost.”

Leliana did her the courtesy of looking directly at her, her lips pursed, clearly analyzing how to respond to Ellana’s question. After a moment she nodded and said, “You wish to know what has happened to everyone. You might want to start with a more important question. What happened to _you_?” 

“You know everything that’s happened to me.”

“Do I?” Leliana’s lips turned upward in her strange non-smile. “You’ve never seen an avalanche before, have you?”

“No. Not a lot of snow in the north of the Free Marches, as you well know.”

“But there is snow. Up in the mountains, I mean. In the spring, were the rivers more dangerous with the run off from the melting snow?”

“Of course it was.”

“You know what that rushing, overwhelming force looks like. You wouldn’t go swimming in a river flooding its banks in the spring, would you?” 

“That would be daft,” Ellana said.

Leliana walked to the railing overlooking the central shaft of the tower. “Now imagine an avalanche.” She dipped her hand over the open space. “An enormous flood of snow and rocks and trees comes rushing down the side of a mountain with the speed of…well, of the spring runoff. Only, it doesn’t melt a layer at a time. It comes all at once. The snowpack hanging over Haven you set off that day? That snow had been there two hundred years. Or more. Not the snows of one season, but of a couple hundred Frostback winters. And the snow is harder than water, of course. It has chunks of ice, it has boulders. It clears everything in its path. The avalanche you set off buried Haven. Not like a heavy snowfall. More like a hobnailed boot stamping on a child’s toy.” 

Ellana shook her head. That was crazy. She knew the avalanche had been harsh, but—

“The force you set off most likely turned Haven’s Chantry into kindling and pebbles.” Leliana slapped one hand on top of the other. “I’ve seen what a much smaller avalanche does to a person’s body. You learn to identify the victims by their garments. Because that’s all that’s left that’s recognizable.”

She looked Ellana up and down in an exaggerated motion. “You were in Haven when you set off that trebuchet. And yet, somehow, the Commander and Cassandra found you miles from the town with nothing worse than a few broken ribs, a cough, and some frostbite. The Commander suffered worse getting you back to our camp. A day later, you’re up and about as though nothing’s happened. Those people were half dead from exposure and fright and you’re the one walking around and reassuring them everything will be all right. Two days later, you lead a march to find a fortress none of us have ever heard of before. And all of this after sucking the Breach that terrorized all of Thedas into _your hand_.”

Leliana moved closer to her, her expression fiercer than Ellana had ever seen it before. “What’s wrong with us? What’s wrong with you? Who are you? _What are you?_ ”

Ellana felt tears flooding her eyes. “I didn’t make any of that happen. It just…it just was,” she said.

“You’re not certain of that. Here’s a surprise: neither are the rest of us. We get to wonder just who we have in our midst and feel just a tiny bit nervous about it.” 

“I’m still me, Leliana. The same Dalish elf all of you have known for almost a year now.”

Leliana nodded. “You refer, of course, to the person who walked out of the explosion that completely leveled the centuries old Temple of Sacred Ashes and killed _everyone else_ who had been inside its walls? The person who may have been rescued by Andraste herself?”

She leaned toward Ellana. “Once is unbelievably strange. Twice is scary. Four or five times? We’re going to stay on the safe side and not make any sudden movements around you.”

Ellana could have heard this sort of wild, nearly insane talk from nearly anyone else and dismissed it without a second thought. Hearing Sister Leliana, the devout pragmatist, say it made her understand there was something extremely serious here. That the way people looked at her had shifted in ways she couldn’t even comprehend.

Leliana settled into her nook where the messenger pigeons roosted. She picked one up and stroked its feathery crown. “I have seen things in my life that have made me doubt my faith in the Maker, Inquisitor. You are the greatest argument I’ve ever seen that the Maker is still taking an active role in our day to day life down here.” She released the bird and it hopped back on to its perch. “I know what’s brought on your questions, Inquisitor.”

“Yes. I can’t take being ignored.”

Leliana’s lips turned up in one of her soft, calm smiles. “You can’t take being ignored by the Commander.”

Ellana opened her mouth to dispute Leliana’s assertion, but she couldn’t think of the right words. Of any words.

Leliana shook her head. “It’s my job, Inquisitor. That’s what I do. I know things about people. ” Her smile widened, and it might have been the first genuine smile Ellana had seen from her all day. Maybe ever. “And here is what I know about Cullen Rutherford. Did you know that I’ve known him a long time? More than ten years. Through some trying situations. I knew him as far back as when he served at Kinloch Hold, did you know that? Do you know what happened to him at Kinloch Hold?”

“No. What happened to him?”

Leliana’s smile turned sad. “It’s a terrible story, but I will leave it to him to tell it. Suffice it to say it was very, very bad. Kirkwall was also very, very bad. And yet. I’ve still never seen him as unsure of himself as what he’s going through right now.”

“Which is what?” Ellana asked. 

“He’s terrified, Inquisitor. He looks at you and he doesn’t know who or what you are either. Back in Haven I think he was at least halfway in love with you. He’s not allowing himself to feel that way anymore. I’m sorry.” 

Ellana stopped fighting the tears and let them stream down her face. “I can’t be whoever this person is that everyone seems to think I am.” 

Leliana strode toward her. For such a small woman, Leliana often seemed large and intimidating. She stood right next to Ellana and stared her in the eye. 

“There’s a reason your title is now _Your Worship_ , Your Worship. A reason why every single person who survived Haven has written to everyone they know all over Thedas and said, Yes, the miracles you’ve heard about are true, it all happened, she really exists. She ought to be dead but instead she walks around like it’s a spring day and she’s out gathering May blossoms. A reason hundreds of people stream in to Skyhold from the farthest corners of Thedas to join the Inquisition _each and every day_. We can’t build housing fast enough for them. It’s not because they suddenly understand the urgency of the Inquisition’s cause. It’s because of you.”

Leliana stood close to Ellana and looked up into her face. “Because they want to see the person who can have a mountain drop on her head and the worst that happens to her is she walks away with a few broken ribs _that heal overnight_.” She shook her head. “You want to be just like everyone else? Too bad. Those days are over. You are now the Inquisitor. Start acting like it.” 

After a few moments, Ellana left Leliana there and walked to the bottom of the tower. And then out of the main keep. She waved at the people trying to get her attention but she just kept walking, up the stone staircase, and then around the battlements to the farthest point of the fortress.

The point she had dreamt about when she had first dreamt of Skyhold, weeks before.

And she sat down, her back to the wall, and she started to cry. Because she was not at all certain she was going to be able to do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the move to Skyhold is such a big part of the game, it seems like it's time to recognize Ellana is a much different person. People are going to look at her funny now.


	24. A Plan For Peace Talks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The civil war in Orlais continues to rage as the Inquisition finds its footing in its new location. The Grand Duchess Florianne has a plan to bring her brother, Gaspard, to the table with their cousin, Empress Celene. Gaspard would never have picked Florianne as the peacemaker, but she seems extremely determined to get everyone together in one place for a big ball.
> 
> Gaspard's aide Armand also informs him of the latest news about the Inquisition and the strange elf who seems to be leading it.

Grand Duchess Florianne de Chalons waited in the Blue Reception Room instead of the Red, the better to show off the hues of her orange silk gown with the yellow highlights. She seemed to be posing in the morning light, the sun glinting off her short blonde hair, her profile presented to an onlooker’s gaze as though she just happened to pause like that. 

Gaspard shook his head as he walked into the room. She probably practiced this presentation, he thought. It probably had quite the effect on the foppish courtiers and nobles at court. It was not as impressive to her own brother. 

He loved his younger sister very much, but sometimes he thought her very silly indeed.

“Cherie,” he said, taking both her hands in his and kissing the air near her white ceramic mask. “You look adorable.”

Florianne simpered for a moment before squeezing his hands. “I am so sorry to drop in like this, Gaspard.”

Right, he thought. Because sending over a messenger with an announcement of her impending arrival, followed by an aide to arrange the correct tea and cakes, counted as “dropping in.” Not that Florianne would eat anything his kitchens prepared, because she needed to maintain her “figure.”

Florianne was thirty-three years old. She sometimes resembled a girl half that age, with her obsession with fashion and parties and court gossip. She had never married any of the men and women who had pursued her, and while Gaspard knew she had had several love affairs—in fact, many multiples of “several”—she had never shown any interest in getting married and having a family. 

Neither he nor Celene had had children yet either, which put the succession in peril. House Valmont had ruled Orlais for centuries. If Celene had no heir, the throne passed to him. If he had no heir, it passed to Florianne. And Florianne had always been more interested in parties than babies, even when she was a tiny thing who insisted on sitting on his lap for her tea parties.

Four hundred years the Valmont family had ruled the Empire of Orlais, and it quite possibly could end with the three of them. With this civil war.

But still: for all her flightiness, Florianne was still his beloved only sister. And she was the closest thing as he had to a conduit to Celene’s inner circle. So he was glad to see her.

He settled on the couch opposite hers as she arranged her skirts to sit down again. “What brings you here to brighten my day?”

Two servant elves bustled in with a silver tea tray and a plate of frilly cream cakes. Florianne held a finger to her lips as the elves worked.

The tea elf handed each of them a cup—milk for him, nothing for her—and then the elves backed out of the room.

“Do you know Celene no longer has elves on her staff?” Florianne asked. “Her personal staff, of course. Need some elves to do the cleaning.” 

Did he ask the obvious question, or did he hint at it? He decided to split the difference by raising his eyebrows at her.

His sister shrugged. “Most of the elven staff at Halamshiral report everything they see and do to Briala.”

Maker’s sword. The elves were loyal to Briala, not the crown? That was quite the nugget of varghest shit to drop in conversation at the start. And of course Florianne didn’t seem at all concerned about the implications of it—no, she simply didn’t want what she had to say to be overheard.

Well, there was a reason Florianne was not at war with Celene and he was.

“Spending a lot of time with our cousin, are you?” Gaspard asked.

Florianne pursed her lips in a moue. “Gaspard, she is my closest friend. She is practically our sister. You know this.”

Celene and Florianne were close in age and had spent their years growing up together. They resembled one another so closely there were persistent rumors that they _were_ sisters—but if Gaspard and Florianne’s father, Theodore de Chalons, was also Celene’s, then the sitting Empress of Orlais was illegitimate and had no claim to the throne. If Celene’s father, Prince Reynaud, had sired Florianne, it would have been by his own sister, Princesse Melisandre. The gossip never seemed to consider that.

Gaspard found gossip quite the waste of time.

“I want there to be peace in our land, dear brother.”

“So do I. Tell Celene to stand down and give in to my entirely reasonable demands.”

Florianne tilted her head. “Which are?”

“She knows what they are.” The first time they had met to discuss settling the war, they had screamed at one another for hours. Celene had called him a coward. He had called her insane. The negotiations had gotten worse from there.

Strange, how something like a desire to start a war to destroy most of Thedas could get one’s energies worked up.

Florianne clapped her hands together and picked up her tea cup. “Oh, you’re always the same, Gaspard. You mustn’t keep secrets from me, the person trying her best to end this. I have proposed peace talks between you and Her Radiance and of course Ambassador Briala—” She rolled her eyes. Florianne had never liked Briala, not when she was but a servant in their cousin’s household, and certainly not now that the elf considered herself on equal footing with members of the royal family because of her relationship with Celene. 

Gaspard would have felt sorry for Briala, but he didn’t like her either.

“—Will be there to speak on behalf of the elves…and whoever.” Florianne waved her hand in the air, as if the vast majority of the commoners in Orlais were of no consequence to her.

Which, he supposed, they really weren’t.

“When do you want to hold these talks?” Gaspard asked. His tea tasted weak. It usually did—that’s why he drank coffee. He pushed the cup away.

Florianne shrugged, her delicate shoulders moving up and down. “Well, in addition to the talks, we’d need to have a ball, of course, and invite the most important of Orlais’s nobles. They absolutely _must_ be there to witness it. The best place to do something of that size would be at the Winter Palace. We couldn’t possibly open that before Harvestmere. It’s not done.”

“Harvestmere is four months off!” Gaspard yelled. “Do you know how many people will die in this war in four months?”

His sister threw her hands up in the air. “The lighting is all wrong at the Winter Palace before the autumn. And the temperature of the air affects the sound— Anyhow, I can’t arrange something like this in under three months and have it be truly magnificent, Gaspard, honestly. Do you not know anything? There’s the ball to set up, and the invitations, and the flower arrangements alone will take—”

If anyone could throw this together, it was his sister. Florianne’s strengths lay in arranging parties of this size. It was both her hobby and her calling. “Will Celene agree to a cease fire before these talks?”

Florianne stared at him for a moment before her mouth widened into a giant smile. “Yes, Gaspard, she will.”

“You could have started with that information, you know.”

“No, she insisted _you_ had to mention the words ‘cease fire’ before I could say anything. I swore to her I wouldn’t. She agrees to one, starting immediately, with the proviso you don’t try to be sneaky and use the time to get your troops into position for anything.” Florianne took another sip of tea. “Something she has also agreed to, by the way, you’re welcome. And, there is one more thing.”

Gaspard felt a twitch in his left cheek. “Yes?”

“She has sworn she will not try to kill you the moment you leave Val Royeaux, dear brother. That’s something. Would you promise as much?” 

A year ago, he had proposed marriage to Celene as a way to end the civil war. They ended up holding weapons on one another. Celene’s rule definitely needed to come to an end, but it wouldn’t be at his hand, either by killing her or wedding her.

“I promise,” he said.

Florianne dashed off the couch she was on and flew over to him. “Oh, thank you, Gaspard.” She kissed each of his cheeks. “This is going to work, I swear it is. Celene knows she can’t stand against you forever. She’s only gotten this far because of Briala. They’re sick of the whole thing and they want it to end. Truly they do. But it’s going to take the three of you working together.”

He took her hands. “I appreciate your involvement, Florianne. It’s not like you to take an interest in politics.”

The canny, penetrating look she gave him startled him. Then it disappeared and she went back to the same flighty, amused woman she always was. “Well, there’s no time like the present to figure out what you and Celene are always harping on about, is there?” Florianne squeezed their hands together. “Please promise me you’ll be at the Winter Palace. It’s ever so important the three of you are there _together_.” 

His dear little sister. She wanted everyone to kiss and make up, as though nothing had ever happened between them. “For you,” he said.

She smiled as a shadow through the window passed over her face. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to know I will have the three of you together in one place.”

For the second time he thought she looked much more calculating, almost predatory. He was used to that from scheming barons and traders. But he couldn’t think of any traits more unlike her. He blinked and the shadow had passed, leaving the familiar visage of his younger sister.

The door to the hall opened and Armand stood there. “When you have a moment, ser.” Then he retreated.

“Ugh,” Florianne said. “It’s appalling he doesn’t use your title. Why do you allow such insolence, Gaspard?” She flounced off the couch. “Well. I will return to the imperial palace and tell Celene the good news. The cease fire will be effective immediately and you should tell your diplomats to send proof of your cease-fire whenever they can get it.” She looked at him with her big blue eyes. “I don’t know what sort of proof she means.”

“I do,” he said, and he kissed her on both cheeks. “Thank you for bringing me this, my dear.”

“Oh,” she said, laughing, “don’t thank me just yet, brother darling!”

Gaspard made it to the door before her to open it. 

Armand bowed low to the Grand Duchess as she swept out of the reception room. Gaspard noted how his sister had never seen Armand’s face, because his aide always turned in such a way as to be unrecognizable. His aide was too clever by half, honestly.

When the front doors to the palace had closed behind Florianne, Gaspard led the way down the hall to his office. Armand sealed the doors behind him. This was the only room in the palace Gaspard trusted to be one hundred percent untroubled by outside ears, and he had it checked three times a week to be sure.

“Did you know Celene’s elves are reporting to Briala?” Gaspard said.

Armand nodded. “I have triple-checked ours, ser. With my especial connections, I have no worries about anyone in your employ.”

“What is Briala playing at, doing this?”

“I believe she would like to mount a coup, if the time proved to be right.”

They stood there silently for a moment while Gaspard tried to digest that. Fantastic, he thought. “She has always been so clever. Do we need to do something about her?”

“I do not believe so. Not yet. There is a matter somewhat more urgent we need to discuss. I need to send another agent to the Inquisition,” Armand said. He held a letter in his hand, a communiqué. “More than one, in fact.”

The Inquisition. That fledging little religious organization in the Frostbacks? How was that more urgent than Briala planning a coup? “What’s happened?”

“There was a disaster. And yet…” Armand seemed unsure of how to proceed. 

Gaspard had never seen his aide unsure of something. “Tell me, man. What disaster?”

“The town of Haven was overrun by an enemy unlike any my man had seen before,” Armand said. “Very powerful, under the leadership of a former Templar named Samson—I’ll find you the information we have on him—and an ancient force we had thought neutralized. Corypheus.”

Gaspard squinted. “The Tevinter magister? You told me the Champion had dealt with him.”

“Well. Perhaps not. Haven and its people managed to evacuate because the Herald—”

“That elf. From the Free Marches.”

“Yes. She confronted Corypheus and his entire army by herself. And she managed to defeat him or at least a large part of his army by bringing an avalanche down on Haven. While she was still in it.”

Disaster indeed. The Inquisition scattered, this Herald dead…that was depressing, Gaspard thought. He really needed the nascent religious fervor of this organization behind him.

“And then the Herald walked out of what remained of Haven, completely unharmed.” 

Gaspard tried to picture what Armand was telling him. “Out of an avalanche? Impossible.”

Armand nodded. “She reappeared, healthy and whole, and then led them to a fortress in the Frostback Mountains that no one has ever heard of before. So the Inquisition has a new seat of power. It’s called Skyhold and it is larger than any fortress is all of Orlais. And the Herald now has the title of the Inquisitor.”

Was Armand… _fidgeting_? Was he nervous? 

“Because of these events, because of the report he sent me, I would like permission to send another agent,” Armand said. “More than one, in fact. To compare the accounts they send back. In case their stories begin to diverge.” 

“What happened to the first one you have there? He must have survived the avalanche, if he told you what happened.” 

Armand smiled and waved the communiqué. It was not a happy expression. “He did. In his letter, he had the courtesy to tell me he was quitting, because he believes the Herald is the leader Thedas needs. A leader for _all_ of Thedas. A letter he has sent to almost every person he knows, by the way.” Armand shook his head. “He has never been a religious man.”

“He’s gone native.”

Armand nodded. 

Intelligence assets falling prey to the powers they were embedded with was a constant danger. Power, money, sex—those were the known quantities used to seduce usually trustworthy men and women. Intelligence agents did not get religion. They did not believe in things.

“What’s the trick? How did she do it? She couldn’t have really been in the town when—”

“As far as I can tell, sire, the Herald of Andraste buried herself and the town of Haven in an avalanche and walked away without so much as a broken bone.” 

“What sort of person can do that?” Gaspard whispered.

Armand shook his head. “I do not know. But it’s extremely important to get as many of our people in there as quickly as we can. As far as I know, the Empress does not have anyone there yet. But she will. Very soon. We can both guess why.”

Gaspard nodded. If this Herald had done this—or at least had enough people out there who believed she had—they had a very big problem indeed. Particularly if this story of Haven began a legend and the Dalish elf started gaining adherents. If this Inquisition went from a small bastion of religious faith to the center of religious fervor, the entire organization was about to become a target for Celene.

He had started this civil war to stop Celene the last time. She could not be allowed to succeed with her plan. He needed to gain as much control over this Inquisition as he could.

“You have carte blanche. Send whoever you have to for as long as you have to. I want reports on every single thing they’re doing. Where is this fortress you mentioned?”

Armand nodded. “I’ll mark it on your map.” 

Gaspard thought about the Inquisition and its symbol, whose symbolic existence was strong enough to tempt an intelligence operative to leave his mission. “Perhaps we should make some sort of overtures to this Herald.”

“Openly, ser? An official communiqué?” 

“My sister is arranging peace talks with Celene to end the civil war. Perhaps we should have the Inquisition join the festivities as my guest. I want to be sure to make acquaintance with them before my cousin does.”

Armand made a note of it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read the Dragon Age Wiki about The Masked Empire and it has the bit about Gaspard proposing to Celene and then drawing his sword on her when she refuses, but she fights him off. My first thought was, Celene can fight off a chevalier who won the Grand Tourney? Okay, I'll just run with it.
> 
> Also, as I said the last time we checked in with Gaspard, there has to be a good reason he is so invested in the Inquisition and bringing it to Halamshiral. He's not an altruist, after all.


	25. The Drinking Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know. I may have neglected this for... a while. But I'm a completist and while I'm in the middle of other work I find myself blowing off steam getting this back on track, so... Here you go.

The courier from Val Royeaux dismounted outside the stables, and a groom took charge of his horse while a valet took his bags. “Not that one,” the courier said, grabbing a the smaller leather satchel out of the valet’s hand.

Blackwall walked out of the barn and waved to the courier. “Henri, you’re back already?”

The courier nodded and then yawned. “No sooner do I get to Val Royeaux and drop off the papers, but they hand me another set. I turn around and come back here. I’ve seen both ends of this damn road too many times in the past month.”

“I remember you telling me there were upsides to being on the road that much,” Blackwall said, grinning.

Henri laughed as he put the strap of his satchel over his arm and the two men headed toward the long walk from the stables to the main keep. “That there is. Gets me even less sleep though.” He yawned again.

“I can deliver those for you, if you just want to head to the Herald’s Rest and get some shuteye. Or start drinking before I get there.”

Henri shook his head. “ _Non_ , most of this is for the Nightingale—oh, wait!” He opened the satchel and took out a folder of papers and a magazine wrapped in brown paper. “These are just news and announcements for…what is this name? The Ambassador? ”

Blackwall held out his hand. “If there’s nothing secret, I’ll take it.”

“Oh, you’re so eager. If she’s that cute, maybe I should take them,” Henri said with a wink.

Blackwall hit him with the stack of notices. “You keep your hands off Lady Montilyet. Queenie at the Herald’s Rest asked me when you were coming back. Go talk to her first.”

“Oh, yeah, Queenie.” Henri looked up at the tall reaches of the Library Tower. “Alas, somewhere I need to visit first. All the way up there?”

“That’s where Sister Leliana spends her time, yes.”

Henri handed over the folder. “Lucky _moi_. See you in the tavern?”

“I’ll tell Cabot to start your tab running,” Blackwall said.

The two men parted ways just inside the door of the main keep, Henri heading toward the stairs up to Sister Leliana’s perch, Blackwall toward Josephine’s office. Midway down the Great Hall, though, Blackwall paged through the sheaf of standard and non-confidential reports and announcements out the capital of Orlais. Standard gossip, boring announcements, information about gatherings, recitals, and public executions. He hefted the brown paper parcel in his hand a few times and grinned.

How Josephine could stand reading through this sort of thing, he would never understand.

He tucked all the papers inside the binding again and opened the door to the hallway where Josephine’s office was.

“Don’t stand in the doorway. It’s rude.”

Blackwall sighed and held the door for Lady Vivienne as she brushed past him. “Pardon, milady,” he said.

“See you don’t do it again,” she snapped. Her skirts swished by as she headed down the hallway toward the War Room.

Blackwall turned right, into Josephine’s office. The Ambassador had a receiving line this afternoon, it seemed. She had her giant quill pen out and hovering over a paper, but her focus was mostly on the young man standing in front of her desk. Krem, the Iron Bull’s lieutenant. Whatever story the Tevinter soldier was telling Josephine made the Ambassador grin wickedly. 

And Blackwall rethought his plan to ask Josephine to have dinner with him. She looked very happy already.

“Oh!” Josephine said, when she saw Blackwall at the door to her office. “Warden, what can I do for you?”

He held out the sheaf of announcements from Orlais. “Just bringing these to you from Henri, Lady Josephine.”

“Don’t tell me he went straight to the tavern,” Krem said.

Blackwall snickered. “No, he had a delivery to Sister Leliana first.”

“What’s that?” Josephine asked, looking at the brown paper package in Blackwall’s other hand.

Krem reached for it over Josephine. “My subscription to the Randy Dowager Quarterly! Give it here.”

Josephine leaned over her desk and snatched the wrapped magazine out of Blackwall’s hand. “You are both terrible.”

Krem and Blackwall burst out laughing and she shot both of them annoyed looks. Krem got a second, longer look, Blackwall noticed. “And now that my delivery service is concluded and I am no longer needed…” He bowed to Josephine and then nodded at Krem. “I’ll excuse myself.”

“Where are you off to?” said a voice from behind him.

He turned to see the Inquisitor in the doorway, the Commander a few steps behind her. She looked as amused and casual as she always did, but Blackwall wasn’t sure how to talk to her since…well, since she had appeared, whole and healthy, in the camp after Haven. And then she had brought them here, to Skyhold, a place no one knew about… He had felt a little uneasy in her presence since the Inquisition had moved here, and he suspected he wasn’t the only one in the Inner Circle who felt that way. He cleared his throat. “Off to have a drink with Henri.”

“Hm. I remember drinking.” The Inquisitor looked up at the Commander. “Maybe that’s what I should do to get them all to talk to me again. Get them drunk.”

“That…would be…one way, I suppose,” Rutherford said.

Blackwall grinned. The man always seemed completely at a loss around the Inquisitor. It was obvious to one and all why, too.

“Josephine, Krem, come on,” the Inquisitor said. “You too,” she said to the Commander.

“For what?”

“For drinking.”

“No, sorry, can’t, I’ve got—”

“If you say ‘paperwork,’ I will fire you from the Inquisition. And then you won’t have paperwork and you will be free for drinking.”

The Commander stared at her, then he looked at the group standing near Josephine’s desk. He sighed. “All right. One drink. And then I do have things to get to.”

“Let’s round up everyone else. Josephine, you too. Step around the side of the desk, link your arm with Krem since that’s what he wants anyhow, and let’s go get everyone else.”

Lady Vivienne attempted to swish past the Inquisitor and Commander, but the Inquisitor put her hand on Vivienne’s arm. Blackwall wanted to laugh at the familiarity, but he didn’t dare. Everything he did set Madame de Fer off, and the less attention she paid him, the better. “Not so fast, Vivienne. You’re coming with the tavern as well.”

“I would never,” Lady Vivienne sniffed.

“But you are, tonight. Come along.”

Josephine stood and brushed off the bright purple skirts of her dress. Then she took Krem’s elbow and followed the Inquisitor, the Commander, Lady Vivienne, and Blackwall out of her office.

~ O ~

Ellana looked around the main room of the Herald’s Rest. Two young men were arm wrestling (to the delight and shock of their female companions). In a dark corner, a weary soldier and her girlfriend were sagging next to one another.One table of soldiers had set up a card game. A table of very rowdy townspeople were trying to drink all of the ale Cabot had received in the past week. On the stage in the center, Maryse was setting up for the weekly song competition, where anyone could take the stage and try their hand at taming the audience.

Many customers she knew, but more, many more, she had never seen before in her life.

Skyhold was growing. Every time she came back there were so many more people. She couldn’t name most of these people, and most of them never looked directly at her, keeping their eyes cast downward.

Cabot came over to where she waited at the bar. “Your Worship?” he asked. She was pleased he still looked directly at her.

“I need a private room.”

“For how many?” he asked.

“About twenty. Twenty very large people. Who drink a lot.”

He pointed to the room overhead. “It’s yours for the night. I’ll keep the ale flowing.”

Ellana rapped her knuckles on the bar top. “Thank you very much, Ser Cabot.”

“Took you longer to do something like this than I would have guessed,” the bartender said.

Ellana stopped and looked back at him. “What do you mean?”

“Just saying. A bit of drinking goes a long way toward lubricating conversation,” Cabot told her. He glanced over her shoulder and then grinned. “And maybe this is the lubricant you need to remove a stick from a certain commander’s arse.”

Ellana turned and watched Cullen breaking up the card game, now that the card players had drawn literal daggers at one another. “That might take something stronger than any liquor you have on hand here.”

Cabot leaned across the bar. “I have the feeling it’s not liquor that man needs.”

Everyone had an opinion on their relationship, she thought. So many things had changed between them or had changed for the Inquisition as a whole. There was no _them_ and she had to stop thinking there could be. Ellana shook her head and headed toward the staircase. “Just open those taps, Cabot.”

Tonight’s drinking session was a risk, but if she didn’t risk something, pretty soon she was going to lose everything. Since they had moved to Skyhold and she had become the Inquisitor, everything was different. When she went on missions with the Inner Circle, the camaraderie they’d had was gone. Everyone stood two paces back.

Hell, even Varric had stopped telling her his really dirty jokes when they sat around the fire. She hadn’t enjoyed it that much until it stopped happening.

And then there was the Commander. Who, from the looks of it, wasn’t even going to make it through the main room of the Herald’s Rest without being stopped by every single soldier there for one reason or another.

Ah, Cullen.

Leliana had made it clear to her that she was the Inquisitor now and she had to start acting like it. Which, among other things, meant she had to stop wondering whether they were ever going to return to that moment they had before Corypheus destroyed Haven. They weren’t.

She rubbed the patch of skin below her collarbone idly before realizing what she was doing.

When he talked to her now, there was so much distance. Different than how they had started out at the beginning, when she was a raggedy elf in chains who didn’t know why she was there and wanted to leave. Now they knew one another—and after everything, they were further apart than ever.

The Chargers had crammed the room with chairs. Ellana wanted to be closer to her people, and from the looks of it she was going to be exceptionally close with a lot of them. The meeting room was barely big enough for the score of them but if there was one thing Ellana knew about most of them, they knew how to cram into tight quarters and they knew how to drink.

Actually, she didn’t know whether Leliana knew how to do those things. She suspected there was nothing Leliana couldn’t do, but what were the odds Leliana would even come to the pub that night?

Quite high, as it turned out: the last people to show up were Dorian and the diminutive spymaster. The Tevinter announced loudly, “The two scariest people in Skyhold are here! Entertain us!”

“What are you blathering about?” Sera yelled. “We’ve got Madame Ice Britches right here.”

Vivienne glared at the elf and looked away, as Sera and Blackwall bumped fists.

Ellana motioned for Grim and Stitches to push down the benches a little more. “Oh good, we were so worried you were going to pass up free liquor.”

“If you can call this drinking,” Dorian said. “I’ll do my best.”

Ellana glanced at Cullen, who sat at the other side of the room from her and rolled his eyes at the mage. She grinned.

Everyone had come. Even Solas had joined them, although he was being quiet and placid in the corner, not drinking, just watching. Josephine and Krem were being very cuddly on their bench. Scout Harding had wedged in with the Chargers, and Cole seemed to be everywhere in everyone’s conversations all at once.

Things were going magnificently.

Sera perched on the arm of Ellana’s chair and plucked her glass of beer out of her hand. “So what’s on the menu besides this?” She drank half the glass. “Not that this is bad.”

“Better than the swill you drink on the road,” Blackwall said.

“We could sing,” Sera said. “I’ll go first.”

“No!” Varric yelled. “Anything but the sound of your voice!”

Bull laughed uproariously. “The Chargers and I know some very interesting songs—”

“The Dalish have a game we sometimes play when we’re really bored,” Ellana said.

“I brought cards!” Stitches yelled.

“I didn’t know Dalish elves could get bored, what with the running for your lives and the terror and such,” Sera said.

Ellana shrugged. “You have to do something in between the purges. It’s not that sort of game, Stitches. It’s a game you play to embarrass yourself or everybody you’re with or hopefully both. We call it ‘Swive Bond _Fossatoir’_.”

“What’s that mean?” Sera said.

“Well, ‘swive’ is —”

“Yeah, I got that one just fine,” said the city elf. “The fossa…foss-something.”

“ _Fossatoir_. It’s a Dalish custom for…well, it’s a very harsh punishment.”

Rocky let out a gigantic belch. “In Orzammar we call this game ‘Fuck, Marry, Kill’.”

Ellana smiled broadly. “Yes, exactly.”

“Yeah, we had that game in Kirkwall too,” Varric said.

Dorian laughed loudly. “This should be entertaining. You’re going first on this one, Inquisitor. Show us how it’s done.” He swirled his glass of brandy. “Also, we’re desperate to know who you would pick for these various activities.”

Ellana shook her head. “This is so very easy for me to answer.”

“Because you’ve thought about this,” Varric said.

“No, because I don’t have any options.” When everyone started laughing, Ellana said, “Come on. The ‘kill’ is easy, right? Anybody want to guess?”

“Sera!” Cassandra said, and everyone laughed.

“Exactly. If we’re going to play this, dear, be ready for everyone to pick you,” she said to Sera.

“I’m doing it wrong if they don’t,” Sera said.

“And ‘marry’ is really easy. I mean, it’s obvious, isn’t it? Oh, come on. The best spouses have three important qualities.” Ellana pointed at Dorian. “They dress well.” She pointed at Varric. “They can keep up a conversation.” She pointed at Cassandra. “And they don’t bother you.” Ellana looked around. “Clothes, talk, interested in their own things. So who is the obvious person to marry?” She looked at Cullen. “Who?”

He laughed. “Josephine.”

Josephine let out a shriek of laughter and everyone else started laughing too.

“Okay, that was easy. Now, here’s the hard part. I can’t sleep with any of you. Not only are you all too annoying to sleep with—”

The laughter rose. Ellana noticed even Cullen cracked a smile, while at the same time not looking at her.

“—But it’s too dangerous. I need you idiots watching my back, not wondering what state our relationship is in or whether we’re on bad terms.”

“If you’re worried relationships, _you’re_ doing it wrong,” Sera said.

Ellana drained her glass and wiggled it. “Exactly. And as someone here…” She looked around until she found Leliana and pointed to her. “…Keeps pointing out to me, I’m the one in charge. So I can’t sleep with any of you idiots. With one exception. Can anyone guess who the one exception to that rule is?”

No one said a thing.

“Oh, come on.” She held one finger up. “Needs to be absolutely no danger of getting attached emotionally.” Second finger. “Certainly not worried about my being the Inquisitor.” Third finger. “Everybody’s going to have a laugh during.”

“That sounds like me,” Bull said.

There were loud whoops from the table, with Sera’s braying laugh louder than any of them.

“There you have it,” Ellana said. She turned to Bull. “By the way, it’s not happening, so don’t ask.”

“You just let me know if that changes, Boss,” Bull said.

Ellana heard Cole say softly, “But that’s not who you think about—”

“Not tonight, Cole, seriously.” She slammed her glass down on the table. “Everybody knows mine. Who’s next?”

~ O ~

The evening went even better than Ellana had planned. It was, more or less, like old times with these people. Her people.

This had been a good idea.

The only thing that bothered her—and it was a strange thing to be upset about, honestly, given what a good mood everyone was in, with laughing and singing and incredibly ribald stories—was a man she could see through the open door. He was out in the tavern, sitting by himself, for all the world looking like he was watching the ground floor…but she had a feeling he was keeping an eye on their party.

“I wonder if I’m drunk,” she asked aloud.

“Boss isn’t drunk enough if she can remember to ask,” the Iron Bull said.

“Oh, come on, Bull. Didn’t I say we were getting married or something?”

“Or something,” the Qunari said.

Dorian slid into the seat next to Ellana. “Stop flirting with the Inquisitor. It isn’t seemly. Also, it hurts my feelings when everyone isn’t flirting with me.”

The door opened again and the waitress brought in another round of lager and bread.

While everyone reached for a pint Ellana leaned over to Dorian. “I have a question for you.”

“Yes, yes, of course I think I’m as handsome as you think I am.”

She squinted at him. “Yeah, no, that wasn’t it.”

“Oh. Pity.” He drank, leaving a slight line of foam on his mustache. “I am though.”

“Do you see that man sitting out there, by the window?”

Dorian kept looking her straight in the eye. “Straight brown hair, green tunic, a metal band on his wrist?” he asked.

“So you’ve noticed him too.”

“Well, he has been staring in here, at you, every chance he’s had. It’s disconcerting to be so ignored. Of course, he’s glaring at you, so I’m happy to be ignored. It’s confusing, really.”

“He look familiar?”

“No.” Dorian shrugged. “But every time we return home there are hundreds more people we’ve never seen before.”

Well, that was true. Maybe she was making something out of nothing. She was tired. And she ought to be used to being stared at by this point. Everywhere she went, people stared at her.

The door opened again and she glanced at him again. He had to be new: most people in Skyhold never looked at her for long, not when she could see.

“You could do better,” Dorian said. He glanced quickly across the room. “I have a few candidates to suggest, if you’re out of ideas.”

The strange man wasn’t exactly looking at her like he wanted to ravish her. Not that she wanted him to. No, she didn’t like the look of him at all. Too gangly. A weak chin. Looked angry. Not quite her cup of tea.

Where T stood for Templar, she assumed.

If one wanted to discuss ravishing…

She was drunk. She had her friends talking to her again, and maybe she was just drunk enough to get the Commander to misbehave with her. It would be a bit of a scandal, yes, but—

“Cold made warm, not alone any more, even the dark made as home.”

“Cole! No!” Ellana said.

That idea sounded stupid.

Which meant she was going to do it.

She stood up.

“I’m exhausted,” Ellana said.

Varric looked up, his mouth open in mock disappointment. “Oh, come on. One round of Wicked Grace. You promised.”

“You cleaned me out in Crestwood. The Inquisition doesn’t pay me enough to play cards.” She pushed herself off the bench. She was drunker than she thought, though, because she stumbled and reached for the table. A hand shot out to steady her.

“Are you all right?” Cullen asked.

“Oh. Hi.” She closed her eyes. He was here. Of course he was here. Had she really been thinking of dragging him back to her quarters with her? She opened her eyes and spied Lysette leaning on the wall near him. Of course she was here. Never very far from the Commander, was she? Maybe Ellana could have her reassigned. The Hissing Wastes sounded close enough. She avoided looking at Lysette and found herself staring up at Cullen instead.

Sera slammed her cup on the table. “Quizzie’s done in. Can’t handle her drink.”

“I need to stop before I end up under the table,” Ellana said.

Sera grinned. “I dunno. That sorta thing can be fun.”

“What?” Cullen asked.

“Ha!” Varric said. “Now Curly’s really wondering what we do when we’re on the road.”

“Usually it’s Sera under the table,” Ellana said to Cullen, who frowned at her. “That came out all wrong.”

“Are you certain you’re all right, Inquisitor?” he asked.

Inquisitor. It frustrated her to no end that he called her Inquisitor. Couldn’t he call her Lavellan, at least?

“If you’re really worried, you can walk me back to the keep.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m worried, Inquisitor.”

Ellana hesitated for a second or two more. And then she saluted her team. “Have fun. Don’t drink until you puke, please, and, yes, I’m talking to you, Bull.”

“Not possible drinking this shit, Boss,” Bull said, raising his glass.

Ellana walked off, swaying only a little as she headed toward the door.

“You want me to deal you in, Curly?” Varric asked.

Dorian clucked his tongue and looked up at Cullen with a sly grin. “I can’t decide if you’re stupidly noble or nobly stupid. To be honest, since the day I met you, I’ve been desperately hoping for stupid. A person is born stupid and can’t help it. You have to decide to act noble.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“A very lovely lady just told you she’s heading back to her quarters to turn in for the night, Commander, and asked if you wanted to walk with her. Even I know what to do when presented with that situation and I’ve never even been in it.”

“You should maybe walk with her, Commander,” the Iron Bull said. “You know. Make sure she’s all right. We’ll hold your seat open if you decide you want to play cards later.”

Cassandra shuffled the cards. “She is drunker than usual, Cullen. Perhaps you should check on her.” She held up a warning finger to the others in the room. “No commentary.”

Cullen pushed back from the table. “All right.” He walked out of the room and headed down the tavern stairs.

“He’s full of such anger and hate,” Cole said.

“What are you talking about?” Vivienne said, reaching for the hand Cassandra had dealt her. “The Commander is not—”

The spirit shook his head. “Not him. The one who hates her. The one with the knife. He’s waiting for her.”

“The Boss,” the Iron Bull said, and he leaped up from the table.

Dalish opened the window and climbed out on to the front of the tavern, followed by Sera.

The rest of the Inner Circle dropped their cards and dashed out of the room.

~ O ~

Outside, Ellana sagged against the wall of the tavern and looked at the night sky. The constellation Boris the Winged Lion was dead center above her, the tip of its tail pointing, as always, north. North. She should follow it now, get back on the road, get out of here. Get that change of scenery.

She peeked around the edge of the tavern. The Commander’s tower stood dark against the field of stars in the sky. Creators, had she really been about to…

Maybe it was just as well he had lost his interest in her.

It was a good thing. Definitely.

Lysette was definitely getting reassigned to the Hissing Wastes, though. The unpopulated part.

“Inquisitor?”

She turned to see a man standing there in the shadows, looking at her. Green tunic. Metal band on his wrist. The man from the tavern. The one who had been watching her all night. Sadly, not the man she had hoped would have followed her out. So, she now had a rating scale for how drunk she was: tipsy enough to say something she shouldn’t to Cullen but not nearly drunk enough to find this stranger an attractive substitute, even in the dark. “Yes?”

He advanced on her fast. “Dalish whore,” he said in her ear, as she found herself sliding to the ground. She wondered what was wrong with her stomach.

His knife was buried in her gut up to the hilt.

“Inquisitor!” she heard someone yell, very far off, somewhere under water.

Her attacker pulled the knife upward, toward her ribs.

Something very large and very silver pulled the man off of her. The pain was so great and the sound of her own heartbeat so loud in her ears she could barely hear the sound of the man’s body hitting the side of the tavern. And then she was blinded by a blast of fire through the air over her.

Solas knelt beside her. “ _Lethallan_ ,” he said as he placed his hand over her wound. “Focus on the sound of my voice.”

She felt a burning in her stomach, surrounding the pain from the stab wound.

Solas moved her head to the side. Past him, she saw the Commander holding his sword to the man’s throat. Two fire rings held his hands fast to the tavern’s brick wall.

“Can I finish him? Pretty please?” Dorian said.

“No.” The Commander’s voice was firm. “Leliana needs to question him.”

“And then?”

“Once he’s talked? He’s all yours.”

“The healer will be here soon,” Solas said. He stroked her forehead. “You will be fine, _lethallan_.”

How could this happen at Skyhold? While traveling, yes. She fought demons and bandits and priests. She had fought Corypheus. How had this happened here?

She clenched her teeth and tried to keep her breathing steady.

~ O ~

The War Room was extra crowded. In addition to Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen, all seven members of Ellana’s Inner Circle were there as well. Solas stood in the corner, the Iron Bull took up half a wall, and Sera was perched on a a brick that stuck out from the masonry on the side. Some sort of announcement was going to be made, obviously, and they only wanted to make it once.

Ellana stood at her usual place at the table, the first time she had done so since the attack a week before. Her stomach was still bandaged, but it was mostly for form’s sake: the wound had healed, the ribs knitted, the skin stitched together. She barely had any bruising left. Her healing happened at a miraculous pace.

Given the organs the man had torn apart, she ought to be dead. Instead, she was getting a report on what they had learned.

“The man who attacked the Inquisitor was from Thackeray,” the Commander said.

That sounded very familiar. Why did that sound familiar?

Varric said, “Northern Ferelden. We bagged two large pride demons, a host of arcane horrors, a ton of elfroot, and one small group of bandits who fought us with really stupid weapons. It rained that day. I broke my bottle of whiskey fighting the bandits. It wasn’t great whiskey, but it was mine.”

Right. Now Ellana remembered the place. Nice enough collection of farms, if you liked farming and sheep and pride demons. “We closed a rift there. That made him homicidal?”

“He says he blames you for the rift opening in the first place,” Cullen said.

Ellana rolled her eyes. “Why am I not even surprised?”

“There are many who blame you for what’s happening across Thedas,” Leliana said. “For the rifts. For the destruction of the Chantry. Even for the Mage-Templar War.”

“Surely people know that all started when I was in a forest in the Free Marches?”

“People can believe anything when they’re scared,” Cullen said.

“If there’s one person who will make an attempt on you life, there will be more,” Leliana said. “Therefore, as of today, we are assigning a permanent guard to the Inquisitor.”

Ellana shook her head. “We are not. You do know I fight demons on a regular basis, don’t you? Even a dragon? I know my reports aren’t great but I have mentioned that once or twice.”

No one laughed.

Leliana glanced at the paper in front of her. “Any time the Inquisitor is not actively engaged in battle, she is to be accompanied by a squad of at least two soldiers. More if they can be spared. There will always two soldiers standing guard outside of her quarters, whether in the field or at Skyhold.”

Ellana looked around the room. The mood and the faces were grim. Leliana was not kidding. This was their plan. “Please tell me you’ve lost your minds. We don’t have enough personnel for this. I’ll be more careful, all right?”

“That time is past,” Leliana said. “We have too many people streaming in here every day. We cannot check each and every one. But we can guard you.”

“So I’m to be treated like a two year old who needs a nanny?” Ellana asked.

“This is meant to protect you, Inquisitor.”

“I’m not a two year old, I’m a grown woman.”

Cullen’s expression didn’t change. He was very definitely the Commander now, distant and fearsome and all business. “Anyone you wish to accompany you back to your quarters has to be vetted by your security detail first.”

Ellana stared at him for a moment, wondering if he meant what it sounded like. She had never brought anybody back to her quarters, and if she knew her Skyhold gossip, he knew that too. “Are you joking?” she said.

Leliana shook her head. “This goes for trips into the field as well. The Inquisitor is never alone with someone we haven’t previously approved. It’s one of this group or it’s no one.”

Ellana looked over at her group. “Don’t listen to this.”

Cassandra shrugged. “I agree with Leliana. We can’t afford complacency.”

Ellana watched as, one by one, her Inner Circle agreed with the Seeker. She was stunned by how betrayed she felt by them. They knew perfectly well how trapped she felt at the best of times by what she had to do. And now to be monitored like she was the one who had done something wrong?

She turned back to the Commander and the spymaster. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. Are you seriously telling me that, say,the Commander of the Inquisition’s military could go to Tralena’s whorehouse any time he wants and the Inquisitor has to be locked in her room like a child?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he said, “That’s exactly what we’re telling you. Every single person in this room is replaceable. You are not. We have been altogether too careless with your personal protection. That ends now.”

“Your Worship, you cannot be on your guard at all times,” Leliana said.

“What’s wrong, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked.

Ellana shook her head. “Throw me back in the jail cells. It would be easier than this. More honest. If there is one constant in a Dalish elf’s life, it’s the freedom to move around. And when they lose that freedom, it means their life is over. Don’t do this. Please. Don’t do this to me.”

“I’m sorry, Your Worship, but it’s been decided,” Leliana said.

Just when she had put everything back to rights with her team, with the people she considered her friends. “Has it.”

“We cannot lose you,” the Commander said.

“Trying your damnedest to do exactly that,” Ellana spat, and then she stalked out of the War Room.

As everyone else had cleared out, Leliana put her hand on Cullen’s arm. “Commander? A word, please. I didn’t want to mention this in our meeting.”

“What is it?”

“It’s about our assassin.”

The man was currently languishing in the jails under Skyhold. Painfully, Cullen hoped. “What about him?”

“His family in Thackeray seems to have relocated to West Hill. They bought a farm. A rather large farm, in fact. They raise horses.”

Horse farms were expensive, as he well knew. It took massive quantities of grazing land, shelter, and quality horses. “That sounds like a surprisingly largepurchase.”

“These people lived on land devastated by three Blights, Commander. They had nothing, and yet they bought a horse farm. Most interestingly, it was bought by an intermediary.”

What Leliana seemed to be hinting at shocked Cullen. “You suspect this is more than just anger at a Dalish elf.”

She nodded. “Someone paid him to do this. I want to release our prisoner.” She held up her hand. “I want to see where he goes when he’s released. If he heads straight to Thackeray, that will tell me one thing. If he heads straight to West Hill, then we know this was arranged well ahead of time. And I’d like to find out by whom.”

“Whatever you need,” he said.

“Oh, and Commander, don’t worry,” she said, smiling that enigmatic smile of hers. “He won’t get to wherever he’s going.”

He grabbed the papers from in front of him and nodded. “See that he doesn’t.”


	26. The carvings and the sword

The Great Hall looked perfectly normal, Ellana thought.. Well, perfectly normal for a gigantic indoor space meant to house hundreds at a single time, as though that could be considered normal.

She would blame _shemlen_ , except Skyhold had been built by elves.

She had trouble believing her people used to live like this. The ceiling soaring overhead, the giant windows, the unusual carvings here and there…

Odd, those carvings.

“Bright Eyes, what are you doing?” Varric asked. He was at his usual perch by the fireplace at the entrance to the Great Hall, his writing board on his lap.

“I have an hour in my schedule, so I thought I would stretch my legs. But if I go too far, I have to take First Fred and Second Fred over there—” She nodded at the two guards standing several yards away. “—With me. So I’m sticking close to the keep.”

“Lucky you.”

“Perhaps they’ll let me out to see the sunshine once in a while.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the boss?” the dwarf asked.

“Opinions differ on that,” she said, and he laughed.

The strange carvings around the Hall kept attracting her eye. It was like they were half of a statue, not the whole thing. She tried picturing what the carvings on the left- and right-hand sides of the giant window at the end of the Hall would like like if they were pressed together, but they didn’t match in any way.

But this other carving, on the ground floor close to her, that did seem to be related to the carving near the window. Maybe, if she got closer to this carving, and lined it up with the one further away…

She stood next to the carving near her and leaned over to bring it into alignment with the other one.

They fit together perfectly, the two of them, and together they formed —

No. It couldn’t be.

Ellana jumped back.

“What are we looking at?” whispered a voice in her ear.

She turned around to see Solas looking at her, his lips twitching in amusement. “You scared me!”

“Is that even possible, to scare the Inquisitor?” he asked. “What are you doing, _da’len_?”

“You see this decoration carved into the wall here?” She pushed him to the side of the room, where she had been standing, and then pointed to the carving next to the window, at the other side of the Hall. “You’ll need to lean over a bit, but see if you can line up this with that one over there.”

Solas leaned toward the wall. “All right. What about it?”

“Does that look like anything to you? The two of them together?”

“What does it look like to you?”

“The head of a wolf.”

He smiled that cryptic smile of his. “Ah.” He leaned over again and bobbled his head back and forth. “Possibly. I shall have to ask the spirits whether this was intentional or not.”

It couldn’t not be intentional, Ellana thought. The perfect alignment of the two carvings at each end of the Hall looked too perfect. She thought about checking the alignment of the carvings on the other side of the Hall, but instead asked, “Could you ask the spirits about something else I’ve wondered about here?”

“Certainly.”

She moved a few feet backward from the wall, inadvertently bumping into a passel of lords attempting to walk by without notice. They apologized to her, she noticed, and moved on before she could say anything. She pointed up. Between the top of the dark gray stone that marked the ground floor and lighter gray stone of the first stone, there was a rectangle of white stone inset into the wall. The stone had some kind of writing carved on it.

“I’ve seen these stones all over the keep,” she said. “What are they?”

Solas stared at them. “They are _elvhen_ prayer stones,” he said. “Using the ancient language of our people.”

“Prayers to whom?” she asked.

The way he looked at her, all serious and calculating, made her blink. Then he smiled. “I don’t know. I can’t read them. I shall have to ask for teaching.”

“Please let me know what you find out.”

“You are interested in the history of our people.”

She looked around the Great Hall, with its ceiling soaring three stories over the ground, and the walls that had stood untouched for millennia. “I want to know more about the people who could build this, and what happened to them.”

The bald elf nodded. “I have one of these stones in my tower room and yet I have never thought to ask about it. Your curiosity does you credit.”

She laughed. “Unless it gets me locked in my suite of rooms.”

“I shall endeavor to speak with my friends this afternoon, during my rest.” Solas lightly clasped her chin in his hand and studied her. His skin felt so warm and dry against her face. She didn’t particularly

“How are you faring, _da’len_?”

She grinned and he dropped his hand. “I will be happy when we are back out there and everyone is on edge because we’re facing a band of Venatori, not because they worry someone here is going to kill me. And don’t worry. We’re going to be on the road again as soon it can be arranged.”

“You need to heal.”

The marks from the assassin’s blade were completely gone. The only marks on her anywhere were thin, hard to make out scars from the wound she had suffered in Redcliffe. She rubbed the spot over her heart absently. “I feel good, Solas. I feel ready.”

He inclined his head. “Thank you for sharing your discoveries in the keep.”

“I’m going to hold you to letting me know what you find out.”

He took his leave and headed back toward his tower.

She stood by the carving on the other side of the hall and lined it up with the carving against the window—and they blended into the shape of a wolf howling at the moon.

It made her feel uneasy. As though there were ancient secrets here and these were only the indicators. She would have to dig Skyhold’s secrets out, bit by bit, with the help of Solas and his friends in the Fade or…otherwise.

Her gaze drifted down from the carving by the window to the throne at the end of the Hall. The oversized chair carved out of a single block of wood. It had been here when they arrived, the property of the ancient ( _wolf_ ) people who had built this place, most likely. She sat in it to hear petitions, to pass judgement, to welcome guests. Josephine had added a soft silk cushion to the hard seat for the hours Ellana sometimes had to sit in it, and a lush red carpet rolled from the bottom of the throne down the center of the room.

Definitely imperial. Not _elvhen_ at all.

Across the arms of the throne, on a velvet cushion, lay the sign of her office. The Inquisitor’s Sword, in its exquisite scabbard with gold, silver, and precious jewels, lay across her throne at any time she wasn’t holding court. It looked so much more modern than the throne or the rest of the Hall, and therefore so much more out of place.

She approached the Throne and picked the scabbard up, pommel of the sword in one hand, the thick gold tip of the scabbard in the other. Her arms were stretched wide just holding it. How could she possibly pull the sword out of this thing if she ever needed to? Not to mention, it was so much longer and heavier than any sword she had wielded before. About the size of the sword Bull swung around, and even he used two hands.

Was she supposed to use this sword? Or was it just ceremonial?

She had no idea.

Time to figure that out.

And that would give her a reason to get out of this damned keep with its secret wolf carvings.

As she strode across the training fields with the heavy sword and its scabbard balanced over her shoulders, her arms holding it in place, she was trailed by her two bodyguards. The soldiers training on the field either stood at attention or fell back from her. Unfortunate side effect of the position, Cullen had once said.

She missed him saying things like that to her. Oh well. One of the many unfortunate side effects of her position as Inquisitor, she supposed. No more idle talking to him about…whatever.

Cullen stood at the opposite side of the field, conferring with the Knight-Captains. One of them must have said something to him about her closing in, because she was almost to the officers before Cullen turned around. Oh, to go back to the time when he had been aware of where she was almost every moment. She was still aware of him, almost painfully so. It was like the man she had spent so much time with in Haven had been replaced by a stranger who didn’t want to come any closer to her.

“Commander, a moment if you please. If you’d excuse us, sers.”

Cullen nodded as the others headed off. Her bodyguards stood a respectable distance away. The Commander focused on the sword over her shoulder. “Is there an army approaching I should know about, Inquisitor? Or am I in a great deal of trouble right now?”

She smiled and shook her head as she swung the sword and scabbard off her shoulders and on to her hands in front of her. “Today I looked at these accoutrements for the Inquisitor’s position and I found myself wondering: Is this an actual sword? Could someone actually wield this in battle?”

“Yes, it’s an actual sword. It’s called a great sword. However, you wouldn’t be expected to use it in battle. A man of Bull’s size can, but most people can’t.”

“Could you?”

“Yes, but not for very long. It’s too heavy and unwieldy.”

“But as Inquisitor, I might need to use this at some point.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He cleared his throat. “There are two general uses for a ceremonial great sword. One is when you knight someone for valorous service. The other is execution.”

“Aren’t you in charge of executions?”

He laughed, uncomfortable. “Generally speaking, yes. There are exceptions. If the Inquisitor sentences someone to death and it’s important for political reasons for you to be the person to carry the sentence out, you would need to hold the sword.”

“Or?” When he didn’t continue, she shook her head at him. “Come on. There’s always an ‘or’ with you, Cullen.”

He nodded and looked off into the distance for a moment. Was he uncomfortable with her using his given name in public? Well, to the seven hells with his discomfort: she was the Inquisitor, she would call him what she wanted.

Finally he said: “Or if I were the person you were executing. Since I outrank everyone else who might do it.”

Okay, she hadn’t expected that answer, but fair enough. “Why would I need to execute you?”

“Mutiny, conspiracy to commit mutiny, treason, conspiracy to—”

“Hopefully not something I need to worry about any time soon.”

The side of his mouth with the scar curled up. “No, Inquisitor.”

“Any reason you had that list of crimes ready to rattle off?”

“You hold the power of life or death over every member of the Inquisition, Your Worship. Seems like a good idea to keep that in mind.”

_Your Worship_. He hadn’t used that title with her before. Ever. Publicly or privately.

She liked hearing him call her “Ellana” much, much more. But she might never hear that again.

“In your considered opinion, I will need to use this at some point.”

“Yes.”

“For both its purposes. Knighting and executing.”

He nodded. “More likely the former than the latter, but…yes.”

“Well, I would hate to be in the middle of executing someone and end up knighting them by accident. So I’d better to learn to use it correctly then, hadn’t I?” She looked at him. “As I recall, my lessons in using a sword came to an unfortunately early end.”

“Yes. They did.”

She let the silence between them drag out, emphasizing the unspoken between them They both knew the real reason he had stopped her lessons with Lieutenant Aethelstan: _fraternization_. The same thing they’d ended up doing in the stables near Harritt’s workshop. The silence certainly reminded her of that night. She suspected from the color in his cheeks he was too.

He wanted to see how a Dalish elf behaved when she was locked up in her rooms nightly? This was how.

“Who can teach me?” she asked.

“Well, there’s me—”

“Not you,” she said sharply. “I might be forced to misbehave.”

“Ah.” He studied the training field, where the troops practiced sword maneuvers on one another, with Knight-Captains and Knight-Lieutenants circling them, yelling orders and corrections. He looked back at her. “The Warden is probably the best choice.”

“Blackwall?”

Cullen nodded. “It won’t take you long to develop the form to use the sword to knight someone, so what you need is practice with execution. You need to hold the sword and swing it down to make a clean cut on the neck.”

“Have you ever seen someone miss during an execution?”

“Yes.” After another second, he added: “You don’t want to ever, ever miss, believe me.”

“No. Probably that would create a whole storm of whispers about the Dalish elf’s competence. I’ll talk to Blackwall.”

“I’ll talk to him.” His tone sounded extremely annoyed, which meant she had gotten to him. She forced herself not to smile. “I can explain what you need to learn and what he’ll need to set up.” He nodded, as if making himself agree with this plan. “It’s a good idea if you practice out of sight in his barn. So when you have to demonstrate your skills in public, it’ll be the first time anyone has ever seen you do it.”

“Let me know when you have that set up.”

How exciting. She would have a reason to get out of the keep when she had to be at Skyhold. And perhaps she could get out of something else too.

“Commander, one other thing. When I’m having these lessons, I don’t want Fred and Other Fred there. I trust Blackwall not to stab me.”

Cullen’s gaze flicked over to her bodyguards. “All right. I’ll arrange it.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded. “As you wish, Inquisitor.”

Oh, bloody hell. She wasn’t going to survive being treated this way. Possibly smashing things with a sword was the best idea she had had in a _very_ long time.


	27. The Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short scene for the holiday weekend, reminding us that we're going to Halamshiral and why we're going.

The invitation from the Grand Duke Gaspard to the Inquisition to attend the peace talks and ball at Halamshiral as his guests was written in fancy gold script on heavy vellum. It should have felt like the first step toward being a major player in Thedas. Instead, it felt like a vise closing around her throat.

Ellana looked at the council members standing around the map of Thedas.

“So, this is another trap,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” Leliana said.

“Absolutely,” Cassandra said.

“I have to agree,” Cullen said.

Josephine clasped her hands together. “It might not be. Grand Duke Gaspard might simply see the Inquisitor as a more neutral party in this affair.”

“That’s an extremely fancy way of saying ‘trap’.” Ellana sighed.

“We don’t need to go. None of this has anything to do with us,” Cullen said.

Ellana didn’t know anything about this Grand Duke or imperial politics and had no interest in becoming better acquainted with either one, but as Inquisitor it was time for her to start playing a role in what was going on among the great powers.

Since she now led one. One apparently valuable enough for the Grand Duke of Orlais to bring her into a domestic matter.

She looked at the invitation again.

Thedas had been overrun by chaos in the past few years—the war between the Templars and mages, the destruction of the Chantry, and now the rise of this monster, Corypheus. Gaspard’s civil war against his cousin the Empress seemed excessively ill-advised.

“Is this Grand Duke Gaspard a stupid man?” she asked the room.

Cullen shook his hand. “No, most definitely not. He’s well regarded as one of the best strategic and tactical minds around. There are many who think he would make a better ruler for Orlais than Celene.” He looked around the room. “Not that we need to mention any of that to them.”

Cassandra nodded. “I had many discussions with him on Chantry business. He’s very sharp, very educated. Opinionated. Full of himself. You know…Orlesian. But he’s intelligent and I had to go to those meetings prepared. There was almost no topic I could out-talk him on. He had always studied more than I had.”

“In fact, whenever the Divine Justinia ever heard raised voices anywhere in the Grand Chantry, she would say, ‘Are Gaspard and Cassandra conferencing again?’” Leliana said.

Cassandra snorted. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Leliana forced herself to stop grinning. “He always took it easier with me, because he doesn’t respect me as much. Why do you ask, Your Worship?”

Ellana kept staring at the invitation. “I don’t know much about Orlesian politics, but Celene’s been Empress for forever, right?”

“She just celebrated her twenty-year Jubilee,” Cassandra said. “She ascended the throne when she was sixteen years old.”

“Sixteen. Creators. And how old’s he?”

Leliana clicked her tongue. “Almost forty-four now, I believe.”

Ellana held the invitation up. “Twenty years ago, this Council of Heralds chose the next Emperor and they passed over a man in his mid-twenties to give a young woman—a girl, really—the crown of the most powerful empire in Thedas. Do I have this right?”

Leliana made a humming noise. “Well, Gaspard’s wife Calienne _did_ kill Celene’s mother and father right after the Emperor Florian passed, trying to prevent them from inheriting the throne.”

“Celene’s father killed Calienne in retaliation, as his final action,” Cassandra added.

Josephine said, “But no one ever suspected Gaspard had a thing to do with the assassinations.”

Ellana made a rude noise. “They didn’t? Why didn’t they?”

Josephine shrugged. “He…wouldn’t. Maybe you have to know him, but…he wouldn’t.”

“Gaspard stabs a person in the front,” Cassandra said.

Leliana nodded. “Theirs wasn’t a happy marriage at all, but still—her idiocy lost him the throne.”

Ellana nodded. “Okay. So, he’s not a traitor and he should have been Emperor. Instead, for twenty years this exceptionally intelligent man has said, Fine, my cousin is the Empress, that’s simply wonderful. But then, at the same moment the Mages and Templars go to war and the Chantry fails and Kirkwall was invaded, he decides _that_ is the perfect time to start a civil war?”

Cullen nodded. “It makes sense. You want to take advantage of the chaos.”

Ellana shook her head. “Chaos is a good recipe for a revolution, not for stealing a throne. Why did he pick that moment? He’s been the Grand Duke at her side for twenty years, supporting her. Then, suddenly, he launches a civil war that has clearly torn Orlais apart. What happened to make him finally snap? You said he’s a master strategist. What’s the strategy?”

“You think there’s something else going on,” Cassandra said.

Ellana nodded rapidly. “The Dalish have a saying in these situations. Roughly translated it’s ‘Seriously, what are the odds?’ Yes. If Gaspard is half as canny as you say, the civil war wasn’t a strategy unto itself—it was a tactic in a larger picture. There’s something else to all of this and we need to find out what. We will attend this ball at the Winter Palace. Josie, congratulations, you’re going to be the lead on this. Hire some tailors to make us formal wear.”

The Ambassador nearly fractured into a thousand pieces from excitement. “Who will be in the party?” Josephine asked.

The joy in the ambassador’s voice made Ellana smile. “We all will. The council and my inner circle.”

“That’s ridiculous. We can’t all go,” Cullen said.

As if Ellana couldn’t guess who would be the first person to object most strenuously to the frippery and insincerity of the Orlesian imperial style. “This is the Inquisition’s formal introduction to the Court of Orlais. We need to make quite the entrance.” She assembled the papers in front of her. “Also, it’s a trap. I’d like to have my closest people on hand.”

Cullen had no response to that, she noticed.

She looked at Josephine. “You’ll need to schedule dancing lessons for everyone as well.”

“Oh, come on!” Cullen said.

Ellana ignored him, because if she so much as peeked at the expression on his face, she would burst into giggles. “Is that sorted?”

Josephine stared at the paper in front of her, pressing her lips together, most likely also to avoid giggling at the Commander’s discomfort. “Yes,” she squeaked.

“Oh, by the way, do tell the tailor I don’t care what the style is in Val Royeaux or Halamshiral these days, so, _yes_ , Varric’s outfit can show his chest hair.”

“Pffft,” Cassandra said. Leliana chuckled.

“It’s going to be difficult, with only six weeks to prepare.” Josephine sighed.

“That’s why I’ve put you in charge of arranging it, Josie. If anyone can do it,you can. Hire as many dancing instructors as you need. I’m late to my next appointment with the ever humorless ambassador from Rivain. If you’ll excuse me.”

Ellana shut the door as Cullen, Leliana, and Cassandra started in on poor Josephine about what they weren’t going to do at the Court of Orlais.

Ha. If she had to suffer the Game, they all had to suffer right along side her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of the reason I changed Gaspard’s age is because of this ridiculousness of the Council of Heralds putting Celene on the throne ahead of him — with his original age, he would have been nearly FIFTY when they passed him over for Celene. LOLWUTNO. 
> 
> Well…there may be another reason I did it too. (Shhh.)


	28. Sword lessons in the barn

Cullen told himself he didn’t care how the Inquisitor’s sword lessons were progressing. With the Grey Warden teaching her. With the two of them alone. No matter what had happened back in Haven with the soldier he had assigned to teach her. He had asked Blackwall to do it, and that was the end of it.

If she needed his help, she would let him know.

If Blackwall needed his help, he would let him know.

Neither of them had said a thing to him.

On Cullen’s third completely unnecessary pass by the barn where Blackwall lived, he decided he would check in and offer his help anyhow. It was only polite, after all.

The door to the barn was open, and the grunting and cursing echoed off the rafters. When Blackwall yelled, “Oh, come on, how can you miss it, it’s right bleeding there!” Cullen banged on the open doorway and said, “Can I come in?”

“Over here!” the Inquisitor yelled. She sounded out of breath.

The practice area was in the far corner of the barn. The Warden was in the center, setting up the target. The Inquisitor stood in the corner, arms crossed and eyes glowering, a large great sword on the hay bale beside her. Not the Inquisitor’s Sword, but not a wooden practice sword either. Cullen assumed it weighed as much as the Inquisitor’s Sword did.

And from the looks of it, she had been working hard. Very hard.

Despite the chill in the air, her white shirt was soaked through with sweat, clearly revealing every fold of the band she wore underneath. Her black hair was plastered to her forehead. Her face was red with exertion. Her green eyes glowed at him and she gave him a small smile.

She looked gorgeous.

He felt himself becoming aroused as he stared at her.

Maker, if he was here with her, they wouldn’t waste their time on swords.

Which was the main reason he did not trust himself to work with her.

Not that she wanted him to. She’d made that clear.

Was Blackwall completely unaware of how tempting she looked standing there? He had to have noticed.

The Inquisitor stared directly back at him, eyebrows raised, as if to challenge him to say something to her.

 _Leave_ , Cullen told himself. Turn around and walk away and let Blackwall handle this. He was torturing himself, looking at her like this, knowing how much things had changed between them since they had come to Skyhold.

Since the Inquisition had moved to Skyhold, nothing was the same—for her, for him, for all of them. She had found them a home larger than Haven—and already the Inquisition and the people following them had outgrown the keep. The town growing on the edge of the fortress seemed to double in size every week—the forest for miles around was disappearing at a frightening rate. The paltry army he had started out with now had several legions, each divided into multiple cohorts. Ambassadors and nobles from around Thedas had begun arriving. Crews had opened up the pass from Ferelden to Orlais that passed by Skyhold, and tradesmen not only paid for safe passage through but had begun bringing their wares to Skyhold itself.

Ellana— _the Inquisitor_ , he reminded himself, don’t call her Ellana, not even to himself—had stepped into the role of Inquisitor reluctantly, but she was growing into it, a little bit more each day. He barely even recognized her as the scared, broken Dalish elf they had found at the Temple of Sacred Ashes, or even the smart mouthed Herald of Andraste. She was confident, assured, more in command.

Her decision to attend the Orlesian peace talks, as much to show off the Inquisition and its power to outsiders as to figure out what was going on with their powerful neighbors to the west, had surprised him. But she wasn’t taking a poll on the issue—she told them what they were doing.

In Haven she had been a girl.

Now, she was definitely a woman.

Cullen made himself look away from the Inquisitor and inspect the rest of the practice area in the gym. In the corner there were a pile of melons, some nicked, some smashed, and a few with a bit taken off one end. Almost none were sliced in half.

Blackwall looked up from where he was crouched by a pair of sawhorses, setting up the target Cullen had told him how to make with a melon held on either side by sticks. His curly hair was messed up worse than ever, and he had a hangdog expression on his face. The way his black eyes looked up at Cullen communicated exactly how he thought things had been going.

“Dare I ask how the lessons are going?” Cullen said.

The Inquisitor let out a yell of frustration and picked up the great sword with both hands. “This sword is stupid and unwieldy and the worst weapon ever conceived! It’s clearly designed for some _shem_ man as big as you are who probably used it to pick his teeth or something. This is impossible!” She waved a hand at the pile of destroyed melons. “The hogs are eating pretty well, though.”

“That good, I see,” Cullen murmured.

Blackwall backed away from the target, one eye on the sword the Inquisitor held. “You have improved quite a lot, milady.”

“That’s not what you were saying ten seconds ago.”

“Let me get out of the way before you swing that thing.” Blackwall skirted the edge of the practice area. He walked over to where Cullen stood. “The first time she swung it, she nearly sliced me in half. And I was standing all the way over here.”

“Am I doing this today or do the two of you need to gossip like old women?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Perhaps the Commander might be able to analyze what you’re doing wrong.” Blackwall’s eyes widened as he looked at Cullen. “Please.”

Cullen suspected if he laughed he might make the Inquisitor very angry at him. And she had access to a very large sword, even if she wasn’t very skilled at using it. “Of course.”

“One final swing, milady, and then let’s give it a rest for a few days. At least one of us could use the recovery time.”

“All right.” She held the sword with both hands. She looked far steadier holding the great sword than she had the day she had asked for lessons on how to use it.

Blackwall grabbed Cullen’s arm. “Take another step back.”

The Inquisitor stood at what seemed to be the proper distance away from the sawhorses, readying the sword in her hands. She stared at her target. And then she swung, raising the sword and then crashing it through the melon. The blunt tip of the sword bounced off the thick padding Blackwall had set up under the sawhorses and the Inquisitor pulled it back, keeping it under control.

The melon dropped in two equal pieces.

Cullen shrugged. “Looked all right to me.”

Blackwall stepped forward. “You hit the target perfectly this time, milady.”

The Inquisitor wore a wide grin on her face. “Look at that!” she said, a wide grin on her face. “So I did.” She wiped the sword off with a cloth.

Blackwall looked at Cullen.“Any chance we can get you to stop by more often? You, she wants to impress. Me, she just yells at.”

Cullen had the feeling he knew how that worked. “After another week, her technique will be even better than it is today.”

“How about tomorrow?” Blackwall asked, his voice tired. “Tomorrow’s good.”

Cullen glanced at the Inquisitor, who was staring at him.Those eyes. He could stare into those eyes of hers forever.

She grinned. “If it gets me through this process faster. And it would, wouldn’t it?”

Oh, Maker, the sound of her voice. She wanted him to come back, possibly as much as he wanted to be here. They never spent any time together any more — probably wise, given their attraction to one another. She was now the Inquisitor. She had duties. She had expectations. He served at her pleasure. There was no path ahead of them.

“The Commander’s very good at giving me orders. Have I ever mentioned that, Blackwall?”

“You might have done, a few thousand times,” Blackwall said.

“I can join you here again in a few days,” Cullen said.

Ellana clicked her tongue and said, “Busy with dancing lessons, are you?”

“There is the matter of running the army, Inquisitor.”

“Isn’t there always.” The Inquisitor burst into a laugh, which he hadn’t heard from her for a while. She sounded like the woman he knew in Haven, and yet he could not look at her the same way. She picked up the scabbard and easily slid the great sword into it, before laying the two back down on the straw.“I will say that working with this sword has done the strength in my arms a world of good.”

Yes, it certainly had. Her body shone like a finely tuned instrument. She looked like a pagan goddess.

When was the last time he stopped in the chapel to pray, he wondered. He should probably go there immediately.

“Make sure you attend those dancing lessons, Commander,” the Inquisitor said. “And I expect you to return here in a week.”

~ O ~

Waiting seven days was pure torture. But then he returned to the barn.

Blackwall had set up a training dummy. The Inquisitor lightly tapped the dummy’s shoulders with the tip of the sword. Then she whacked its head off with one clean stroke.

“What do you think?” She pointed to the dummy. “I meant to do that, by the way, that wasn’t an accident.”

Cullen nodded. “You’re more or less done with the great sword then.”

“Thank the Maker,” Blackwall said. He brushed the dirt off his hands and walked away.

The Inquisitor lifted her hands in triumph. “I shall knight everyone I have ever met in celebration of this moment.”

“You need to learn more with the short sword, though,” Cullen said.

She dropped her arms and made a face. The Warden stared at him in frustration.

“Why would I — You still think that’s a good idea?” she said.

“That would be why I said it,” he told her.

“Count me out,” Blackwall said. “Had enough of dealing with her one on one.”

“Why do I need to learn it?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Because the problem Cassandra told me about still stands. Undoubtedly Blackwall has seen this on multiple occasions and can speak to it. When you get separated from your team, everyone you’re fighting goes after you. You can’t use the bow in close quarters. You have to be able to use a blade.”

“Blackwall, what do you think?”

The older man stroked his thick black beard for a moment. “Well…you do get herded away from us quite often. It’s usually not much of an issue…but it has been time to time, yeah.”

“For how long is she separated from the rest of the team?” Cullen asked.

“Well, we try to get to her as fast as possible but —”

“What’s the longest she’s been cut off from you?”

Blackwall raised his thick black eyebrows. “Thirty seconds. Less, definitely not that but —”

Cullen shook his head. “Thirty seconds is too damned long.”

The Inquisitor raised the hem of her undershirt, revealing her abdomen. “I have been fine, Commander. As we all know, someone sticking me with a blade barely slows me down.” Her skin was completely healed from the attack weeks before.

He wanted to touch that skin more than he’d ever wanted to touch a woman in his life. “And what happens when you don’t have the Inquisition’s finest healers twenty feet away from you, Inquisitor?

She dropped the shirt and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, come on. I’m an archer. I bring warriors with me to wave swords at things. If I practiced every day all damn year, I won’t be half as good as Blackwall is, or Cassandra, or you.”

“You don’t need to be. You need to be able to defend yourself in close quarters for thirty seconds. That’s what you’re going to learn.”

The Warden slapped his hands on his knees. “Well, the two of you have fun, but my list of duties hasn’t got any shorter since we began this.”

“Where are you going? What could you possibly have to do?” the Inquisitor demanded.

“Pitch hay for the horses. Organize the field mice by size. Learn to play the fiddle. Something.”

Cullen put his hand on Blackwall’s shoulder. “You’ll stay right here. Your expertise is invaluable.”

Blackwall snorted. “She hasn’t thought so for two minutes in a row yet.”

The Inquisitor stared at Cullen, the corner of her mouth tilted up. She looked down at the condition of the clothes she was in and smirked as she walked past him.

He could smell the sweat on her. How was Blackwall maintaining his composure? Or was he?

Blackwall, for his part, seemed singularly uninterested in what she looked like. As far as Cullen was concerned, that called the Warden’s reputation into doubt. How could he possibly not be affected by her?

“When do these lessons start?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Now. You have practice swords, Warden?” Cullen asked.

Blackwall muttered something about stupid people invading his home and went to the front of the barn to get them.

After Cullen reviewed what the Inquisitor remembered about swords, he told her to be there every morning at dawn to work on one thing and one thing only: the ability to hold off any attack for thirty seconds straight.

“You’re planning on doing this _here_?” Blackwall said.

“And you’re going to join us,” Cullen told him.

“The hell I am.”

Cullen ignored him. “Inquisitor?”

She gave him a lazy smile, her pink lips drawing upwards as though she could see his purely selfish reasons for wanting this time with her, while not trusting himself to be with her alone. “I’ll be here.”

~ O ~

The lessons continued at dawn, nearly every day the Inquisitor was at Skyhold. Often it was the three of them there, unless the Commander had military exercises to work on.

Cullen watched Ellana and Blackwall go through a series of dueling exercises, over and over again. The Grey Warden was exceptionally skilled, he noticed. He was one of the better swordsman Cullen had seen, in fact. Better than some men he knew had competed in the Grand Tourney.

He also noticed something else about Blackwall which surprised the hell out of him.

One day, when the Inquisitor called a halt and went to the well in back, screaming she’d had enough, Blackwall looked over at Cullen and the two men started laughing simultaneously.

“Would you mind taking over before she bloody fucking kills me?” Blackwall said.

“No, I’m good where I am,” Cullen told him. “Much easier to watch how she’s doing when she’s not trying to slit my throat.”

“My throat’s okay to slit then, is it? Fuck off, Commander.” Blackwall picked up his towel and rubbed it all over his face.

Cullen laughed. “Where did you receive your training?”

Blackwall took a second before tossing the towel back into the corner. He shrugged. “You know. Here and there.”

“That’s Orlesian officer technique,” Cullen said. “Not learned here and there.”

Blackwall eyed him. “What makes you say that?”

“I didn’t have the same education growing up as many of my fellow Templars did. So I have had to do quite a bit of studying on my own, particularly military styles. Yours is quite an impressive example of Orlesian military officers training. Not a lot of Orlesian officers in the Grey Wardens.”

“But there are some,” Blackwall said. “Are we going to have a problem with this?”

Cullen shook his head. “I wouldn’t have guessed it, as all.”

Blackwall nodded. “Do we have to continue with this?”

The Inquisitor returned to the barn, clearly having doused herself with the entire water bucket, her skin showing through her shirt. “Getting tired, old man?”

“Both of you fuck off,” Blackwall said, and he drew his sword again.

~ O ~

Meeting in the barn was as close as Cullen could get to those weeks he had worked with her on her archery. It was exhausting. It was wonderful. Her mind was so quick, and she could adjust to every command, to every minor correction of her form, her stance.

She went from being able to hold Blackwall’s attack off for three seconds, then five, then ten. Her little cries of triumph—as well as the smiles she gave Cullen when he gave her unvarnished praise—made the extra hours he was putting in worth it.

And they were spending time together again. Not like he wanted to, perhaps, but that wasn’t possible. Not here, not now, probably not ever. He was her military commander, he was going to teach her everything he knew. It was all he had to offer her. For now.

Except then the Inquisitor fucked Hawke, which kind of ruined everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, having a bit of fun with Blackwall here. Poor man.


	29. Hawke

When the Inquisitor and her team returned from Crestwood, they did not have Hawke with them, or the Grey Warden named Stroud he had brought them to meet. In addition to their packs, the riders seemed to be carrying a great load of animosity toward one another. The stable hands who helped them dismount heard the Inquisitor yell, “Oh, for the love of whatever god you follow, Varric, shut the fuck up. Enough.”

The red-haired dwarf was the only one of the group who was wearing a smile, although it was more of a smirk. “I’m just saying, Bright Eyes, the two of you together…it’s kinda cute.”

“We have bigger things to worry about than whatever you think makes for a good story.”

The Inquisitor stalked off toward the main keep, leaving Varric with Cassandra, Iron Bull, and Solas.

“What is she so upset about?” Varric said.

The Seeker made one of her hostile clicking noises. “Are you this stupid on purpose, Varric?” She hurried after the Inquisitor.

“It’s nice the Inquisitor finally let loose.”

Bull chuckled. “You just keep telling yourself the stories you want to hear, Tethras.”

“You headed to the tavern? I’ll go with you. What about you, Chuckles?”

“Alas, not today, Varric,” Solas said.

“Hey, Hero!” Varric yelled at Blackwall. “Come with us. We can give you all the news. You’re going to like this one.”

The Grey Warden dropped the towel he’d been wiping his hands on and nodded.

~ O ~

Ellana called a session of the War Council instead of heading directly to her quarters. The contrast between being completely free in the outdoors to being locked up at Skyhold made coming back here difficult sometimes. She knew she stank and she was exhausted, but what she had to say couldn’t wait.

When Cullen walked in, he nodded at her. Seeing him was the best thing about being back in Skyhold—despite his serious demeanor and focus on work and training. Making him smile once, or joining her in a glance across the table, thrilled her in a way she couldn’t explain.

Oh, she could explain it all right. But if she let herself think about it too much, she’d do something rash.

Ellana gave the update on what they had learned from Hawke and Stroud in Crestwood, about the Calling the Grey Wardens were hearing, and about the plan Warden-Commander Clarel had to undertake a blood rite to stop it.

“That’s madness,” Leliana said.

“Hawke and Stroud will investigate where Clarel and the Grey Wardens are. We need to find Clarel and discover what’s really going on.”

“Why didn’t Blackwall tell us about this Calling?” Cullen asked.

Ellana shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe the Calling affects some Wardens more strongly than others. Stroud described it as flooding on him, like a wave. Perhaps it hasn’t hit Blackwall yet. Hawke said he would send word as soon as he has any idea where we should look.” She glanced at Cassandra. “There is one more important thing we discovered in Crestwood. Turns out I can sense red lyrium.”

Everyone standing around the table stared at her.

“How?” Cullen asked.

She reached up to unbutton her shirt, before she thought better of doing so. Instead, she put her hand over her heart. Where the monster in Redcliffe had written his initials with the tip of his sword. Everyone in the room knew perfectly well what she meant by the gesture.

“Oh no,” Josephine said.

“This…scar…had almost completely faded. Haven’t thought about it twice in the past few months. When we were in Crestwood, I felt it break open just before we found the cache of red lyrium and the red Templars. The wound didn’t set until we got some distance from the red lyrium.”

The look on Cullen’s face was almost enough to get Ellana to stop talking. But this was important.

“This is terrible,” Leliana said.

“It was very worrying when it happened,” Cassandra said. “We thought she’d been hit.”

Ellana shook her head. “I’m not upset about this at all. This is a tie, between me and Corypheus. Between that future and now. If this can give me even a minute’s warning before we find red lyrium, or the red Templars, or…”

“Or Corypheus himself,” Cullen said.

“Exactly. I think this is why this scar never completely went away.” Ellana patted the bandage she wore over it. “I just wish it didn’t itch so much when it’s healing.” She took a deep breath. “All right. That’s enough until the morning’s meeting. Leliana, let me know the instant you hear anything from either Hawke or Stroud or any news about this Clarel. Cassandra, see what you can find out about the red lyrium and why there’s so much of it around. Josephine, I want a report in the morning of where we stand before going to Halamshiral. Commander, a moment?”

Cullen held the door open for Sister Leliana and Cassandra as they exited. Ellana signaled for him to let the door close.

“I expect not to have to repeat this one more time, Commander, but _you did not do this to me_.” She rubbed the spot over her heart. It was sore and itchy, but it reminded her that she had survived that…and worse. “I can’t have you taking things like this personally.”

“Inquisitor—”

“You didn’t do this. I expect I don’t have to say this again.”

After a moment, he nodded. Then, after a moment of looking ill at ease, he said, “How are you?”

“I’m exhausted. For once I won’t mind being locked in my quarters, because all I’m going to do is sleep for the next twelve hours. Does horseback riding ever get easier?” She stretched and her vertebrae cracked, loudly. “I would much rather have spent the past week training with you. And Blackwall, of course. We’re on for dawn?”

“I look forward to it, Inquisitor,” he said.

~ O ~

In the Herald’s Rest, at a table near the back, Blackwall squinted at Varric, who was recounting the funnier parts of the mission to Crestwood a second time. Including his insistence that the Inquisitor and Hawke had gotten _very_ friendly indeed in her tent, which was right next to his. Very loud and very friendly. The Warden glanced at Bull a couple of times, and the Qunari stared right back at him. Giving nothing away. Also, not backing up the dwarf in the slightest.

“I don’t believe you,” the Warden told Varric. “You were drunk, weren’t you? ‘Course you were. You’re making up stories again.”

Varric slammed his mug on the table. “Not so drunk those noises could be anything else. Ask him.”

“He hasn’t said a word, Varric,” Blackwall said.

Bull chuckled. “The dwarf’s been itching to tell everyone in Thedas since we packed up camp. Boss wants to kill him.”

“I heard ‘em going at it myself, Tiny.”

“I don’t care if you _saw_ them yourself, I don’t believe you.” Blackwall looked around the Herald’s Rest and saw way too many interested parties listening in on this conversation. “And if I were you, I’d find that indoor voice Her Worship always wants you to use.”

Bull let out a loud bellow. “Good luck with that, Blackwall.”

Varric signaled for another round. “Come on, don’t we always tell her she ought to relax? She relaxed all right.”

Blackwall pointed toward the main keep. “I saw her for two minutes today. She’s not relaxed.”

Bull let out another roar.

“Excuse me,” came the melodic, icy tones of Lady Vivienne, who glided to their table. “I can’t help but overhear your conversation. Everyone in the Herald’s Rest can’t help but overhear your conversation. May I give you a friendly suggestion?”

Varric wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wish you wouldn’t—”

“Don’t talk about the Inquisitor behind her back. It makes you untrustworthy.” She turned her penetrating gaze on Blackwall. “And I think you know how Her Worship feels about untrustworthy companions.”

“Why are you looking at me?” Blackwall said.

“So the dwarf isn’t the only one of us you don’t trust,” Bull said.

She gave him a quick sidelong glance. “You’re Qunari. You’re inherently untrustworthy.”

“That’s fair. Join us for a round, won’t you, Madame de Fer?”

“No, thank you. I require more suitable companions for the evening. I’m only here to offer the dwarf some advice.”

She walked off again without making a sound. Blackwall wasn’t even certain her feet were touching the floor, she moved so smoothly through the tavern. Everyone in her path dashed to get out of the way.

“What did I ever do to that woman?” Blackwall asked Bull.

Bull shook his head. “What makes you think it’s what you’ve done? Maybe it’s what she wants you to do.” When the Warden stared at him, he roared with laughter again.

Blackwall pointed a finger at Varric. “You. Shut up with this.” He looked at the retreating Vivienne. “You shut up too,” he whispered.

Bull tapped his mug against Blackwall’s. “Oh, I’ve missed being home.”

~ O ~

The first time Cullen knocked her to the ground without so much as a warning that they were going to start, Ellana figured it was because she wasn’t back to speed yet after her return to Skyhold.

The second time, she wondered if the rules of her training had changed.

The third time she found herself on her back and staring up at the barn rafters, she knew he was upset with her about something and she couldn’t figure out what.

He had been fine the previous afternoon when she had called the War Room meeting. They had chatted, she had assured him she was fine despite the scar opening, she’d made sure he knew she wanted to start the sword lessons again. She might have even suggested they have dinner—with others, of course, she didn’t mean it like that—if she hadn’t been so bloody tired after the ride back from Crestwood. With Varric’s annoying teasing.

After a few more rounds, Blackwall roared, “What are you doing to her? Can’t you see she’s had enough?”

“Is that what the Venatori or the bandits or whoever says when you’re in the middle of fighting? ‘Oh, let’s take five everyone, she looks like she’s had enough.’ She can’t take it easy, Blackwall. Ever.”

Ellana held up her hand to get their attention, but instead Blackwall pointed to the side of the barn. “Commander, if you’d bring one of the jugs of water from around the side. I’ll deal with her.” He watched Cullen walk away, and then put a hand out to Ellana to help her up.

“What the hell’s with him?” Ellana asked.

Blackwall’s jaw set—and then he looked away. “He stopped in the tavern last night.”

“He wants to kill me because he’s got a hangover?”

“He might have heard something Varric has been telling folk.”

Ellana closed her eyes. “Oh, fuck me,” she muttered.

“Something like that, yeah. Just so you know, everyone in Skyhold has heard it by now.”

She should have guessed it was something like that upsetting Cullen. If it hadn’t been Hawke and Crestwood, it would eventually be another story, another rumor. Cullen Rutherford ought to know by now not to listen to gossip. Especially considering some of the things she’d heard about him in hushed whispers concerning Kirkwall and someplace called Kinloch Hold.

When Cullen walked back in, she got into the starting stance and faced Blackwall. “Did you ever play those logic games? You know, you have a house with four rooms, someone got murdered in one of the rooms, you have a couple of clues and have to figure who killed whom with which weapon?”

Blackwall’s sword slammed against hers. “Sure.”

“Imagine a camp with four tents.”

“I know it well,” he said, laughing.

The swords banged together as he drove her across the barn.

“I, as always, share a tent with Cassandra. Solas shares with Varric. Iron Bull has a tent to himself—”

Blackwall stopped an incoming swipe inches from his face. “Because he’s so damn big.”

“Exactly. Stroud and Hawke have their tent. Got it?”

Blackwall grunted. “You’re leaning too far on your lunge. Pull up.”

She adjusted her stance and they started again. Cullen was paying very close attention, she noticed. “We came back from finding the red Templars and the red lyrium and a cache of some very fine Antivan red wine.”

“Oh, damn. Sorry I missed that.”

“Yes, I thought of you, actually. All of the wine gets drunk. Bull goes to sleep in Stroud’s tent. Not surprisingly, Stroud is also in Stroud’s tent.”

“‘Course he was. I have met Bull, you know.” Blackwall shoved Ellana backward and then looked at Cullen. “Haven’t been in his tent, though.”

Ellana’s sword flip out of her grip. “Haven’t wanted to or haven’t been asked?”

Blackwall shook his head. “A gentleman never tells. And neither shall I.”

She scooped her sword up and got into the primary fighting stance. They began trading blows. “Varric was in his own tent, drunk and snoring his arse off.”

“Amazing he can sleep through his own snoring,” Blackwall said. “I hate having to share with him and I snore myself.”

“Let’s see. Cassandra was in our tent. Who does that leave?”

While Blackwall thought about it, Ellana parried and knocked his blow to the side. He slammed up against the wall a few feet away from Cullen, Ellana’s sword forcing his own against his chest. “Tell me one other thing,” he said, panting.

“One question only,” she told him.

“Where’s Solas?” Blackwall shoved Ellana off and they sparred to the other side of the barn.

“There were some ruins nearby, and he asked if he could sleep there. I was worried all night. The howling of the wolves was so loud.”

Blackwall drove Ellana back toward Cullen. Then he stopped and roared in laughter. “She didn’t.”

Ellana laughed. “Oh, yes, she did.”

“Who didn’t what?” Cullen said.

Blackwall threw his head back and laughed as he stumbled backward. “I didn’t know she had it in her.”

“Several times that night, from the sounds of it,” Ellana said.

“Now I’m damned sorry I didn’t go back to Crestwood with you,” Blackwall said. “Damned sorry indeed.”

When the light finally dawned on Cullen, his eyes widened and his breathing changed. “She didn’t.”

Ellana was breathing hard and sweaty when she turned to look at him. “Oh, Cassandra and Hawke most certainly did, Cullen. Gods, the two of them were so noisy. All of them were. Stroud’s tent was on one side of me and Cassandra and Hawke on the other side of me and Varric was snoring like he was making money from it. I wanted to scream at all of them to shut up already. And I say that as a Dalish elf quite accustomed to the sounds of people fucking two feet away. Solas finally came back to relieve me at four, which was good because I was this close to murdering every single person in the camp.” She walked over to Cullen and made an exaggerated sad face. “You look very upset. If you harbored hopes the Seeker had saved her virginity for her eventual marriage to you, I have _terrible_ news for you.”

“What? Maker, no. I just— _Cassandra?_ And Hawke?”

“Cassandra and Hawke.” Blackwall rocked his head back and forth. “That’s the Seeker I’ve come to know.”

Ellana chuckled. “You probably would have got to know her extremely well that night, if your tent was in just the right spot. She is a big fan of the Champion of Kirkwall. Turns out, he’s just as big a fan of the Hero of Orlais.” She hung her sword on the rack.

“Why did you ask about Solas?” Cullen asked.

“Somebody has to be on watch. It was either her or him. So, will we see more of Hawke around here?”

Ellana shook her head. “Cassandra has her mission and he has his. They had their moment. It’s over.”

“ _Also_ the Seeker I’ve come to know.”

“I can’t believe this,” Cullen said.

Ellana stared at him. “You have trouble believing Cassandra dropped her knickers for him, but you have no trouble believing I would. Good to know.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he snapped.

“Isn’t it? Here’s the moral of the tale. Don’t listen to stories, Cullen. They’re not nice and they’re very often not true. Particularly about me.”

Cullen shook his head. “Why doesn’t someone just tell Varric he’s wrong?”

“Because Varric is being willfully stupid. His best friend and…how would you put this?” Ellana looked at Blackwall, who sighed.

“The woman who interrogated him for days?” Cullen said.

She chuckled. “Try something more like, the woman he more or less worships. Or have you not noticed that?”

“But he said—”

“Yes, Cullen, Varric says a lot of things. Case in point, this entire incident. Am I to believe everything I read about you in his book about the Champion?”

Cullen had the decency to look upset at the idea, Ellana thought. How much in that book was true? “Everyone wants Varric to shut up…to protect _Varric’s_ feelings. When he finds out, he’ll be devastated. He might possibly kill Hawke.” She swung her sword through the air. “And lucky me, I’m the beneficiary of his mistake.”

Blackwall hung up his own wooden sword. “Oh, get off. He knows. He absolutely knows. I watched him last night. He’s trying to convince himself. He wouldn’t need to keep repeating the story over and over if he didn’t.”

Cullen looked from one to the other. “It’s not like that sort of behavior is common on your missions, is it?”

Ellana and Blackwall stared at him. She watched color flood into Cullen’s cheeks. “You mean, who’s sleeping with whom? That sort of behavior?”

“None of you ever say anything in any of your reports.”

She took a deep breath as Blackwall coughed and walked away. How like the Warden to leave this one up to her.

“It’s safe to say we include all of the important things in our reports. There are definitely things we’ve all agreed to leave out.”

“I see,” he said.

She leaned in close to Cullen’s ear. “You want to hear what Blackwall gets up to when we’re out in the field?”

“Not really,” he replied.

“How about my fears of a possible outbreak of tiny Qunaris all over Ferelden and Orlais?”

“Please stop.”

“If you promise to behave, I’ll tell you exactly how popular Sera is—”

Cullen stared her in the eyes. “Stop _now_ ,” he said.

Ellana bit her lip to keep from smirking, and she stepped away from Cullen as Blackwall returned. “However, you should feel secure in the knowledge that everyone—and I do mean _everyone_ —knows beyond a shadow of a doubt they have to report on what I’m doing. And with whom. So if you haven’t read anything like that in a report, it didn’t happen.”

Cullen stared at her.

“At all, ever,” she finished.

“It’s the truth, Commander,” Blackwall said. “We’ve all been read the bloody riot act by Sister Leliana. Anything goes, except what the Inquisitor’s been up to. That we have to include.” He looked around at the mess and grunted. “We done here?”

“Haven’t heard what the Commander thinks about the day’s training. Didn’t use the sword at all in Crestwood—”

“Anyone’s sword, from what I’ve heard,” Blackwall said, snickering.

“Oh, fuck off, you.” Ellana pointed at the Warden. “So. I haven’t trained for two weeks and yet I managed to hold him off for thirty seconds. That was the original goal, right?”

Cullen stood up, his armor making the slightest rasping sound. “There is one other element we need to work on and it’s my error for not bringing it up before.”

Ellana looked around the barn, glanced at Blackwall, turned back to the Cullen. “I won’t be a full-time warrior any time soon, but—”

“No, you’ve done exceptionally well,” Cullen said, and Ellana scratched the side of her mouth to keep herself from reacting to the praise. Creators, what it meant to her to hear him say something like that to her. “The problem is, how do you get the sword in these encounters in the first place?”

Blackwall grunted. “That’s the easiest part, Commander. Half the time there’s swords lying around, everywhere we go.”

“Half the time also means half the time there isn’t one. And what does she do then?” He looked at Ellana. “You don’t want to carry a sword with you.”

“That’s what I have him and Cassandra for.”

“Perhaps we should bring Cassandra here to practice as well,” Cullen said. “This will take practice. A lot of practice.”

“What will?” Ellana said.

Cullen motioned for her to move back a few feet. She walked backwards—and he tossed the wooden sword he was holding at her.

She shrieked and ducked to the side.

“That. You need to learn to catch.”

“Andraste’s tears, you are going to kill her,” Blackwall said.

“Yes. So that a gang of bandits cannot,” Cullen replied.

“I’m not certain that’s the reason,” Ellana said.

“Figure out the training regimen,” Cullen told Blackwall. “I can’t be here for the next few days.”

“Bloody hell, you’ve got to be joking me,” the Warden said. “You want her to learn to catch a sword?”

“Side to side, from a height, and tossed upwards,” Cullen said.

~ O ~

Cullen stayed away from Ellana’s training for as long as he reasonably could. He did always have other things to do. His list of things to do was most likely a few miles long. Military planning. Meeting with his lieutenants. The horrible dancing practice (not that he went to that).

He knew the real reason he needed to stay away from the barn, of course: he was embarrassed. As soon as he had heard the story about the Inquisitor and Hawke, he had assumed it was true, and it had made him furious someone else had pursued her in a way he had not. And his sense of relief when he discovered it wasn’t true was so great he knew he had to confront what was going on with them. With him.

She wasn’t his. He had no right to think about her that way.

Ellana was already in the back of the barn when Cullen arrived at dawn. Blackwall didn’t seem to be anywhere around. She stood by the back door, tossing a sword, its metal reflecting the light from the lanterns set up, into the air. Her black hair swung back and forth as she leaned from side to side, one hand throwing the sword up, another arm gracefully reaching out to catch it as it fell. The sword arc got higher and higher with each throw, until she twirled around to face him and reached behind her back.

Cullen held his breath.

Ellana drew the sword out from behind her back and held her hands up. “Not bad for a beginner, eh?”

“That’s amazing.” He had made the suggestion she needed to learn how to catch a sword only a week before and she could already do it.

If he couldn’t think of something else she needed to learn,their time working here was at an end. He saw her every day at the War Table, and around Skyhold… But the time they spent together just the two of them—or, with Blackwall, the three of them—was among the most memorable moments he had spent since joining the Inquisition. And in the moments when he could be fully honest, which was usually in the haze just before falling asleep, time he had spent with her covered some of the very best moments he’d ever had in his life. If she had already learned what he needed her to know, their time together would be at an end.

“You have made excellent inroad on the skills,” he finished.

Ellana’s lips twitched for a moment, until a grin broke out on her reddened lips. “I’m on to you, you know.”

He certainly hoped she wasn’t. She might not appreciate some of the other things that went through his mind as he drifted off to sleep. Most of them depicted her in various stages of undress.

She did a lunge, thrust, and parry combination before straightening up. “Compliments are not your forte, Cullen.”

“I offer feedback commensurate with the accomplishment. Excessive compliments are not my forte.”

She laughed at that. “You’ll be sorry. At this rate I will become an expert swordsman, renowned throughout Thedas for my prowess.”

“I look forward to the day I find that threat mildly concerning.”

“Ha! All will fear me.”

Cullen nodded. “Fairly certain most of us already do.”

She laughed at that and slashed the air in front of her.

“Did I ever make it clear to you that you never swing a sword unless you mean to use it on someone?”

She sobered and brought the sword down. She sheathed it in its scabbard and then lay it on a hay bale. “Yes, ser. You did.”

He’d done it again. Brought their few lighthearted moments together to an end. “I’m very proud of you, Inquisitor.”

“Don’t do that, Cullen. Where you get all formal and distant. My name is Ellana. I’m sorry about how I told the story about Hawke the other day. I should have just said what happened instead of being cute. Varric’s incessant joking had rubbed me the wrong way and I was in a foul mood.”

“I would also like to apologize.”

“What for?”

“For letting the story bother me so much.”

She stared at him for a moment, then shook her head as if arguing with herself.

“Inquis—Ellana,” Cullen said.

“Oh, do shut up,” she said, and in seconds she had crossed to him and wound her arms around his neck.

He barely had time to put his hands on her waist before her mouth was on his. And he felt her lips open and then his tongue was in her mouth and she was up against the wall of the barn as his hands moved down to the curve of her bottom. Her fingers cupped the back of his head to pull him even closer.

He pulled away and looked at her, her eyes heavy-lidded, her lips swollen and open.

“Cullen,” she whispered.

He felt the side of his mouth curve up looking at her. Maker, she was so beautiful.

He pulled her up to him again and every inch of his body that touched hers felt like it was burning.

He cupped his hand against the curve of her cheek and she leaned back again like he was everything she had ever wanted.

He wasn’t, though. He couldn’t be. She still didn’t know because he hadn’t told her.

He needed to tell her.

The thought acted like a bucket of ice thrown over him.

She stroked her finger down the side of his cheek. “Can we skip the lesson and go somewhere right now?”

“You know we can’t,” he whispered.

Her expression went from aroused to alarmed. “What? We don’t know that at all.”

“Ellana, we need to talk.”

“Talking is not what I had in mind.”

Cullen swallowed as he stared down at her, his breathing rapid, his heart rate speeding up. He straightened up and her arms unhooked from his neck. “But we need to.”

“When?” Her voice was breathy.

“Today. Today we will talk. In my office.”

Did she cry or did she laugh? “What could we possibly need to discuss that’s more important than this?”

He felt himself smile. “There is yet something.”

She stepped away from him, her hands sliding down his arms as she moved. “This had better be the most important thing you’ve ever had to say.”

It would be, he thought. He should have done it a while ago. It would undoubtedly change her feelings about him.

“Oh, Mythal, I feel like I’m on fire.”

“Go splash some water on your face. It will help.”

“Is that what you do?”

He needed a rather more directed application of cold water to parts of his anatomy. “Something like that.”

She walked away from him and the sway of her hips mesmerized him. He could watch her all day. He wanted to do so much more than that.

Oh Maker, where the hell was Blackwall? What had he seen?

That was all the cold water he needed. Cullen looked around the barn.

The Grey Warden sat on a stool at the far side of the barn, whittling something out of a block of wood. He paid absolutely no attention to the sparring lesson. His back was to the interior of the barn, and he faced out to the horse practice area. As Cullen walked up, Blackwall said, “Don’t mind me. Pretend I’m not even here. It’s what the two of you do anyhow.”

“Listen, Blackwall—”

Blackwall looked back with a grin and then returned to focus on the doll he was carving. “Just can’t stand the way she’s all flirty, puts her hands everywhere on your body, and pushes every button you’ve got, right?”

Cullen wanted to kill him. “Yes.”

The Warden shook his shaggy head. “That’s all you. Not anyone else.” When Cullen opened his mouth to argue, Blackwall scraped the knife against the wooden block. “With me she’s just foul-mouthed and petulant most of the time. Works hard, but tells me to fuck off and let her do it on her own after I explain it to her. Wouldn’t put her hand on me unless the move I’ve been teaching requires it and sure as fuck never wants my hands on her.” He scraped off a long strand of wood. “You’re just an unlucky sod, Commander. How have you not noticed that?”

He remembered working with the woman Blackwall had described, when she was just the Herald and he had to make her want to kill someone. She had definitely changed. “You don’t say.”

“Neither of you can think straight when you’re both here. But we both know that already. I leave you alone for three minutes and you’re all over one another. Listen, Rutherford, I can take a stroll around Skyhold for an hour and the two of you…have that _chat_ the two of you clearly need to have. Say the word and I’m gone. Just don’t make a habit of coming here and clean up after yourselves when you’re done.”

“I want you to get over there and work with us so I can actually teach her something.”

“Teach her what, exactly?” Blackwall asked. “We both know you’d like me to get that walk in. I had absolutely no doubt the dwarf’s story was wrong. Wish I had money on that one.”

The two men returned to the back of the barn, where Ellana waited for them. While they had been talking, she had dumped an entire bucket of water over her head and now her shirt was plastered to her body, with the edges of her breast bandage clearly outlined through the fabric.

“I seem to have had an accident with the water barrel,” she said.

Just standing there seeing her like that was likely to kill him dead where he stood, Cullen thought.

Blackwall let out a roaring laugh. “Both of you get the fuck out of here. Tell me if we’re still doing this every morning or if I can have some peace of mind. And think on what I offered, Commander.”

When Cullen returned to his office in the Commander’s Tower, he sat at his desk silently for a few minutes. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out the carved box he had brought with him from Kirkwall.

He had to tell her. She was the Inquisitor. She had the right to know.

No, she was more than the Inquisitor. She was everything.

~ O ~

When Ellana opened the door to Cullen’s office, he glanced at her and dismissed the sergeant he was talking to. The young man saluted sharply and then was gone, like that.

He hadn’t talked to her in days. Hadn’t looked at her once during the War Table meeting, preferring to concentrate on the table, or stare at the floor.

As she walked over, Cullen looked at her and then did the same thing again—he stared at the floor. “Inquisitor. Thank you for coming to see me.”

 _I’m right here. Look at me,_ she thought. This morning they were…and now this. “Well. You summoned me. I am here.”

She expected he would make a joke about her use of the word “summon.” Or at least react to it, with his usual awkwardness. He didn’t. He was stalling.

So she took the initiative. He wanted to talk? Fine. They would talk, dammit. “I was reviewing the army as they were going through their drills, Cullen, and honestly, what you’ve done with them, it’s fantastic. I had no idea.”

He gave a half-smile. She had joked about his sparing praise earlier in the day, and here helooked so uncomfortable being on the receiving end. She thought back on what Leliana had said about what happened to him, so many years ago.

“The job you’re doing is remarkable, Cullen. Honestly. The Inquisition is blessed Cassandra had the foresight to nab you when she did.”

He nodded and took in a huge breath. “As the leader—as Inquisitor—there is something I must tell you.”

Right. Back to this. She was the Inquisitor to him now. The strange, unknowable Inquisitor. She had to remember that. “What is it?”

“You mentioned being able to sense red lyrium with…with your scar. What do you know about lyrium?”

Of all the things she had suspected he might want to talk to her about after this morning, that wasn’t on the list. What had the Keeper told her? “It’s a mineral used by mages to increase their mana. Those who can use it say it has a song.”

“That it does. Mages aren’t the only ones who use it. Lyrium also grants Templars their abilities. Once a person begins taking lyrium, no longer using it can cause problems.”

She hadn’t known that. They had a lot of Templars here at Skyhold. “Problems? What sort of problems?”

“Some go mad. Some have even died. We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here.”

Why was he telling her about this? “Well, good.”

He raised his head, finally, and looked at her. She hadn’t seen him look directly into her eyes since…well, since that last day in Haven, she guessed. No, that last night. Now, here, in his office in Skyhold, he was tired and overworked and seemed sad.

“I no longer take it,” he said.

He had just said that if a person who stopped taking it risked insanity or even death. “You stopped? When?”

“When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

 _Months?_ He had been with the Inquisition for a year. She had been with the Inquisition for almost a year, and he had been there longer. And he wasn’t taking lyrium for all that time? No wonder he was so adamant about calling himself a _former_ Templar, she thought. “Cullen, if this can kill you—”

“It hasn’t yet.”

“Yet.”

“After what happened in Kirkwall, I simply couldn’t… I am no longer a Templar and will not have it be a part of my life any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

Kirkwall. The terrible stories about the breakdown at the circle there, about the Knight-Commander gone mad. What he had gone through and then turned his back on. He had turned his back on all of it.

“But I would not put the Inquisition at risk,” he said, looking at her. And then waiting.

It took her a moment to stop thinking about Kirkwall and realize what he was telling her.

He had stopped taking the lyrium. But he would begin again, if she asked him to. If she thought the Inquisition needed him to take it.

If she told him to.

Would lyrium remove the sheen of exhaustion from his face? Take away the world-weariness that seemed to destroy his ability to enjoy his accomplishments?

Would it take away the man she had become rather _fond of_ and leave a stranger in his place?

She remembered what he had said about Kirkwall.

“Cullen, I would rather you not put yourself at risk.”

He shook his head. “So far I haven’t. I asked Cassandra to…watch me. We agreed that if my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty. I wanted to inform you. So that we could come to the same agreement.”

His ability to lead.

What he meant was: if he suddenly went insane. Or even died. Did he understand what he was asking of her?

“Are you in pain?” What a stupid question, she asked herself. Of course he was in pain. If not taking it could kill you, not taking it was probably going to hurt.

Not taking lyrium explained an awful lot about some of his stranger behavior.

“I can endure it.”

He wasn’t going to tell her what was really going on inside his head. Too dangerous, she supposed.

She nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Thank you, Ell—Inquisitor. The Inquisition’s army must always take priority.”

“Must it?” she asked.

He looked shocked at the thought. It had clearly never crossed his mind there was a situation in which the Inquisition’s army wouldn’t take priority.

For him, that was probably true, she thought.

She smiled. “Do I even need to ask that?”

“Should anything happen… I will defer to Cassandra’s judgement. And yours, of course.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” she asked.

“The Inquisitor should know what conditions her people are operating under. Whether their judgement is impaired.”

“You mean this morning.” She knew her tone was harsh.

After a moment, he said, “Yes.”

“I’ve never taken it, so this doesn’t say much for my judgement, does it?”

He smiled at that, and then sobered immediately. “I would like you to consider what this means for a few days.”

“Rather than drag you back to my lair and have my way with you this minute?”

After a few moments, he said, “Something like that, yes.”

“You think this means you’re broken somehow. It doesn’t, Cullen. It doesn’t.”

“Everyone’s blood is running hot. After a time you may think differently.”

“I rather doubt it. But against my own wishes, I will honor your request.” She put her hand on the door to his office when suddenly the memory dawned on her, and she looked back at him. “Redcliffe.”

He froze where he stood.

“The version of you…there. He had taken red lyrium.”

“So you said.” His voice was so quiet. “He was a monster.”

“You’re afraid you’re going to turn into him.”

“Yes.”

“You’re not. You can’t. I know you, Cullen, it’s not possible.”

“And yet, I fear giving in. The lure of lyrium is very strong. I still feel it humming through my veins.”

He was asking her for a reprieve. She could do that. The stresses of the past few weeks—and the trip to Halamshiral coming up—were breaking all of them. And neither of them was going anywhere, were they?

“All right, Cullen. All right. We will put this on hold until… Until we will have the time to deal with it. And I assume we’re done with the sword lessons.”

He nodded. “For one thing, you’re clearly proficient enough already. For another, Blackwall will probably kill us if he sees either of us in the barn ever again.”

That made her laugh. “You’re right about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sort of got out of hand, to the point where I began to wonder if I was ever going to finish it. I hope it answers a few things (hee hee) and raises a few others. No, I didn't forget the title of the story. I had plans to bring it back.
> 
> Next week: Orlais. Dancing. Deceit. The whole nine yards.


End file.
